


The Summer's Flower

by thingsishouldntbedoing



Series: The Lionhearted [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Drug Withdrawal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Plot Twists, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spoilers, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 84,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsishouldntbedoing/pseuds/thingsishouldntbedoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every decision she makes is a thread on the edge of a sword in a shaking hand… one wrong move could end everything. Lives hang in the balance, decisive movement holds them aloft, and she has no way of knowing what consequences hesitance might provoke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They that have power to hurt, and will do none

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I'm **jocunditea** on **[tumblr](http://jocunditea.co.vu/)** so if you're into that sort of thing go ahead and follow me there I'd love to hear what you think!  
>   
> 
> **Fanart for The Summer's Flower**
> 
> [ Arielle and Cullen](http://grimsolas.tumblr.com/post/112112634232/cullen-and-arielle-trevelyan-for-jocunditea)   
>  [various scenes](http://sketchingsparrow.tumblr.com/post/109593404439/sketch-commissons-for-jocunditea)   
>  [Chapter 15](http://freyleif.tumblr.com/post/106005261986/the-wolf-whistles-and-cheers-came-from-every-edge)

It had been a day of extremes. Perhaps a month of extremes. From the Conclave to the massacre. From Orlais to Redcliffe. From the breaking of the Breach to the exuberance of celebration, suddenly swallowed and blistered to ash in the flames of the Elder One… and now the rebirth in the frigid winds of the mountains.

But, even with all that, she felt nothing…

Fear pricked at the edges of her mind, but she pushed it back with what little strength she had as the Anchor sent fingers of pain up her forearm and into the arch of her shoulder. With winds beating back against her advancement, snow crawling up the soaked legs of her pants, and ice gathering on the lengths of her cloak and clinging to her lashes... her pain was the only affirmation that she was still alive.

Pain was the only reason she could keep moving. Pain told her that despite all that had happened, despite the appearance of this fearsome enemy and his proclamation of her as an unknowing enemy, she had survived… and she could rise again.

She had never truly believed in a Maker. Not as Cassandra did, not as Leliana, or even Cullen with all his swears and Templar swagger, but when she reached the curve of the mountain and saw the orange light of a camp her movements halted and she fell to her knees… and a soft prayer fell from her mouth. An oath of gratitude to the Maker, to Andraste, to whatever god or goddess existed above them… to whatever had brought her here.

“She’s alive!” She heard him before she felt him, all furs and warm cloak around her. For a moment she thought he might be a mirage, a trick of the snow as the cold took her spirit, but his proud voice was broken and exhausted as he swore against her cheek and he smelled of sweat and blood and the lingerings of magic and flame. Surely no mirage could be this wonderful. Surely no mirage could push her unbound hair back and warm her ears. Surely no mirage would press the softest, unrestrained kiss to her brow.

Surely no mirage could look at her with Cullen’s eyes.

She slumped against him, safe at last, and pressed her cold face into the furs at his shoulder. One day she would tell him, one day perhaps he would tell her, but for now she let his powerful arms lift her cold and shivering body, let him sweep her up and carry her off to the camp with her friends and advisors at his heels.

 

* * *

 

 She remembered the first time she was introduced to him, really the first time she paid attention to him, standing across from him at the beautiful table in the Chantry in Haven. He had been talking to Josephine but as soon as she touched the wood his molten eyes were on her. There was something enchanting about his eyes, brown and sweet, as if he deserved more than the lyrium addiction being a Templar brought him. 

She had heard of him, from other Mages that had been in Kirkwall, and what he had done with Hawke and her forces. She wondered if the white line of a scar on his lip was from the Rebellion, or if there was another story to it. Whatever the story may be it set what may have once been a sweet smile just to the other side of wicked, or perhaps that was the Templar swagger, that sent a hot blush into her cheeks. She had been well educated, a lady of the court, but there was no stopping the thought of touching her lips to that scar.  
  
“Commander Cullen, head of our standing forces,” the sound in the room around her finally returned as Cassandra introduced them with her usual blunt voice, as if she hadn’t noticed the way Cullen’s eyes had taken in their former prisoner or the set to his stance or how her fingers had spread in caution a her side, as if she might summon a spell to defend herself. “Lady Arielle Trevelyan.”  
  
Arielle wanted to comment, wanted to mention the way his fingers curled almost lazily around the hilt of his sword, how the tension in his neck had been obvious. She wanted to say that she’d seen the stance of a Templar a thousand times before, how the air had prickled when their eyes met, and how, even now, he was watching her. It made her uneasy, but not in the way she had expected. She couldn’t say the forbidden wasn’t exciting, or that Templars with all their glory and gilded honor didn’t make her senses tingle.  
  
“Bunch of impressive titles,” she tried to diffuse the tension, and the flicker of that same wicked smile on his lips said she had succeeded.

It had always been her sister who had made the decisions. She was the eldest, the most decisive, the heir-apparent. When they had been children, before she’d been sent to the Circle, they’d spent hours on Lisette’s adventures. Since then her headstrong sister had grown up, had hardened to the world, and it was her sister’s words she found herself lingering on after the War Council, staring down at the maps and papers before her. She wasn’t really seeing the parchment anymore, she was seeing her sister feeding baby Nugs and their ever-present guard dog, a Mabari named Evelyn they almost always called ‘Nanny’, acting as a pillow for her young charges as no other war hound could… she was seeing the day she’d been sent to the Circle… and how her sister had cried.

“Lady Trevelyan,” she started, turning to find that someone had opened the door.

“Commander Cullen,” she greeted, running her fingers through her hair to pull it up as she stood.  
  
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Cassandra sent me to fetch you for dinner,” he didn’t take his eyes off her and again his gaze crippled her. His was a visceral presence, one of action and sheer strength, and she could almost smell the lyrium on him. All the Templars had reeked of it.  
  
“Sending the Knight-Commander to fetch me, seems you’ve been demoted.” She smiled slyly, gauging his reaction. If they were to play this game of cat and mouse she was bound and determined to win it.  
  
“Knight-Comm-- I’m afraid I don’t answer to that title any longer, Herald,” there was a touch of amusement to his voice, and to his ever-serious face.  
  
“And I don’t well respond to Herald, either,” she smiled.  
  
“Ah, so it is odd for you,” he seemed to have taken her earlier jest seriously. “You don’t really like it?”  
  
“Oh no, who wouldn’t like to be dubbed ‘The Herald of Andraste’?” She tried to ease the tension again, stifle the static that hung in the air between them.  
  
“I suppose they could be calling you Andraste herself, yes?” His smile again, as sharp and as well aimed as his blade, of that she was certain.  
  
“I thought Cassandra sent you to fetch her? Not to bar her from exiting the war room…” Leliana’s voice cut through the air and Cullen turned to reveal her.  
  
“I was-- doing no such thing,” he cleared his throat, scratching at his beard.  
  
“Mhmm,” Leliana looked around him. “Herald? Would you join us?”  
  
“Of course,” she passed by him with a half-cocked smile his direction.

 

* * *

 

 She was an enigma. Everything about her from the moment she’d stepped out of the Fade had been shrouded in mystery, as if she were surrounded by the Veil itself… and she drew him to her. She’d surprised him when she’d walked in through the door: he wasn’t sure what he had expected but it hadn’t been a tall and beautiful Mage with the gait of a noblewoman and the grace of a hundred saints. He also hadn’t expected the devilish sense of humor and sharp wit that had bit into him several times during their first encounter. 

He supposed it was his training that made him wary of her, or perhaps he was so weak willed that just being in her presence left him enchanted and bewitched and that made him _fearful_ in a way he hadn’t been in years. No Mage had drawn him that way. He could remember a beautiful woman from years before, however, who had left him breathless in the same way… but she was far away from him and married to the King of Ferelden.

He tried to shrug the strange violet of her eyes off, standing in the dining hall, as the lingerings of lyrium in his blood. He tried to forget how she had stiffened at the sight of him and how, for a moment, he’d foreseen a future where her slender fingers made his blood boil with an Immolation spell, a future where his blade took her head off her shoulders.  
  
Her joke had eased his tension like warm fingers on his shoulders and that same, primal, fear speared at his heart… Mages were capable of much, including bewitchment with words, and it was all he could do not to fall prey to the idea of her mere words wielding power behind them.  
  
But now, with the way her eyes had taken in every shift in his weight, he was more at ease. She was just as wary of him, perhaps just as fearful, and she knew he was a Templar… perhaps she had known from the moment she’d walked in. Cassandra was a wiser woman than he often gave her credit for, she must have sent him alone to let them size each other up… to ascertain a comfortable rapport without the eyes of others… and it had worked. 

He gave her a smile as she passed, watching her fingers work the long strands of her blonde hair into a ponytail, taking in the faintest scents of magic and Fade and _lilacs_. He could sense a mage from a mile away, but he could almost taste her power, could almost _feel_ the blunt edges of her aura against his resistent body; wondering, for a moment, what her Harrowing had been like.

“You’re smitten,” Leliana told him in an undertone and a sly smirk, watching him watching her.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sighed. “She’s a Mage, I’m just--”  
  
“You’re not a Templar anymore, you don’t have to keep an eye on her, and I know you don’t forget those kinds of things,” she laced her fingers together. “Give it a few weeks, you’ve only just met her. Maybe under all those layers she’s disfigured?”  
  
“She’s not disfig-- you are very sneaky,” he waved her off and headed for the mess.  
  
“See you tomorrow, Cullen,” Leliana’s voice followed him.

“ _Spymasters_ ,” he grunted in response.

 

* * *

 

Then there she was the next day with Cassandra by the training grounds, all smirks and grins and playful jests. Her laugh was enchanting, her manner with Cassandra easy and kind… and it was nice to see Cassandra getting along with someone... but when she spotted him watching and made her way to him he could have _sworn_ those eyes were playing with him. And when she told him she’d just _love_ to hear any speech he’d prepare for her he nearly dropped everything just to write one for her. For a moment, the brief moment when he considered her with an appreciative smile, he forgot he was standing in the midst of a training ground and that her flirtations were likely an attempt to be friendly.  
  
“Perhaps another time,” he offered and watched her huff playfully at their interruption. “We are in the middle of a war, after all?”  
  
“I suppose we are,” he glanced back at her as he walked away, the faintest bubble of delight in his chest, and found her watching him. 

“I’ll see you when I get back from the Hinterlands, perhaps?” He felt as though she had said it ever so quietly, quiet enough that he shouldn’t have heard it over the ruckus around them, but it was loud enough to grip his spine in its icy touch, preventing him from entering the tent he’d headed towards. It was a suggestion, a question, and a test.  
  
“I am always here, Commander of the Standing Army and all that,” he deflected the offer but it almost felt as though he had slipped into her trap without knowing it.  
  
“Of course,” he saw a ghost of a smile on her face as he ducked into the tent -- anything to get away for now.

 

* * *

  

“Well at least he’s interested,” she huffed a laugh, dusting her hands of a job well done. 

“You shouldn’t tease him so,” Cassandra told her, leaning on the hilt of her blade. “He’s a good man.” She was still curious about this woman, and even though she had so readily offered information about her own life… she had earned little in exchange besides a laugh.  
  
“I’m only getting to know him,” the Herald turned back to her and she straightened up. “He’s… very unlike a Templar, but also very like a Templar.”  
  
“How do you mean?”  
  
“Well all the other Templars I’ve dealt with have either wanted to kill me or tried to kill me, it’s been a long time since I was in a Circle. May I?” Arielle opened her hand towards Cassandra’s sword and accepted it.  
  
“You know your way with a sword?” She asked, watching the Herald heft the blade. Arielle stepped her way through several swipes, movements sloppy but educated.  
  
“My grandfather was a Templar,” she answered and Cassandra’s brows lifted. She wondered what it must have been like to be a Templar, a Mage hunter and protector, seeing his own grandchild in the first throes of her powers.

“He taught you?”

“How I idolized him when I was a child…” she laughed. “My sister and I would steal the practice swords without edges and race through my family’s lands, pretending we were _grand_ Templars hunting those devilish apostates and maleficars.” She struck a dummy hard enough for the blade to sink into the wood. “Obviously that did not come to pass…”  
  
“That must have been hard for you…” Cassandra pulled the sword free of the dummy. “So when you say he’s like a Templar?”  
  
“I suppose he and my grandfather were cut of the same cloth. He’s kind and he tries hard to remember Mages are people, even if he doesn’t understand us. So many Templars have forgotten that, I suppose that’s why we’re at war,” Cassandra wanted to inquire further… but something about the slump of the Herald’s shoulders told her not to, and Arielle had given her the same respect. “Tell me something, Seeker?”  
  
“If I can, I will,” she said.

“Do you believe I’m the Herald of Andraste?” The question was one she had been expecting, but it still felt like a slap to the face. Something about the emptiness of her voice and the sincerity of her concern made Cassandra’s heart ache. This woman had returned from the Fade, had been thrown in chains and interrogated, had seen horrors no human should… and yet here she was asking for _her_ approval.  
  
“Every time I think I know something for sure… it’s disproven. What I do know about you is that you are lucky, for better or for worse, and we could use some luck.” She hesitated over her answer a moment. “I _want_ to believe you are.”  
  
“I think I want to as well,” Arielle’s face softened into appeasement, as if she were concerned her answer might offend.  
  
“Then do you… believe in the Maker?” Cassandra asked.  
  
She saw uncertainty flicker over the Herald’s features, as if she were warring with the idea of diffusing a difficult question with another quip, but then…  
  
“I think so,” she answered.  
  
“Then that… makes me feel more comfortable.” She started back to the troops.  
  
“Seeker? Cassandra?”  
  
The woman Cassandra looked back to was reassured once more, her shoulders proud and chin high. The sight made Cassandra’s chest swell with pride and admiration.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Any time, Herald,” Cassandra nodded.

Perhaps this woman really was someone she could follow.


	2. That do not do the thing they most do show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I think I'm going for shorter chapters for more frequent updates! Let me know what you think! I'm on tumblr at [jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/) and I'd love to hear from you!

Her return from the Hinterlands lifted his heart once more, seeing her marching up the steps as he argued with Roderick made a sharp spine of hope spear through his belly. Up close, however, he could see a bruise creeping against her collarbone and new bandages on her hands and feel the depletion of her magic; he could almost empathize. Her spirit, wry and sharp as it was, seemed unbroken against her exhaustion as she wove her way through her argument with Roderick… for a moment be imagined her a diplomat: all long blonde hair and biting wit. He sometimes forgot that she was formally educated and raised in a wealthy Circle. He thought, for a moment, that she deserved something more than this… fine silks and velvets and handmaidens to braid her hair. Whether that was the life she wanted was another matter entirely, also why was he even thinking about that sort of thing?

“I don't know how you do it,” she sighed and he bit back a smile. “Keep them at bay.”

“Of course, Herald,” he earned a sideways glance from her as she passed, chuckling to himself. Perhaps Leliana was right after all, but a little crush couldn't hurt?  At least he rationalized that idea, clutched to it desperately like a fraying rope as he tried to convince himself he hadn't awaited her return with bated breath.

“She did well,” Cassandra was at his elbow looking tired but reassured. “We set up camps across the Hinterlands and took care of the Mages and Templars. For now the Crossroads should be safe, she even went above and beyond to bring meat and goods to the refugees.”

“I think you're starting to respect her,” Cullen looked at her slyly.

“She… has a way about her.” Cassandra folded her arms.

“I think you might even call her a friend?”

“I'm keeping an eye on her,” she said and he laughed. “You and her! You laugh but you have no reason!”

“I have reason, Seeker, but it's only out of the purest of devotion to you that I don't tell you.”

“What of the horses?” She asked, diverting the humor.

“They arrived a few days ago, glad to help with the watchtowers.” He nodded, turning to look out over Haven. “Quite an operation we've got going now.”

“With her at the helm,” Cassandra’s armor clinked as she moved, footsteps heavy.  

“You don't mind? Didn't you ask after Hawke?” He turned his head.

“I also asked after the Queen,” something about her face told him she knew, Seekers knew everything. “It seems… Queen Ileana may be missing.”

He whistled, low and sharp, “That’s just what we needed.”

“Nothing has come of it yet, it's potentially a rumor spread by King Alistair’s court to prevent the Inquisition from seeking her out… Or something more sinister is happening within the Wardens… So for now we are leaderless…”

“You are our leader,” he said. He respected Cassandra, admired her strength as a Seeker, her hardheaded determination, and most of all her loyalty. 

“I am not the leader, I do not want that.” 

“Sometimes it's not about what we want but what roles we fulfill.”

“I am a warrior, Cullen, I could not bear the weight of the decisions the leader of this Inquisition must.” 

“So you try to thrust it upon someone else?” He watched her curiously, following her eyes to where Arielle and Varric stood speaking.

“Don’t make it sound so vulgar!” Offense edged into her words. “I don’t hand things over to someone else even if I am unwilling to do them… but this is something I don’t think I could fulfill.” 

“So why her?”

“The Qunari elect their leaders based on their ability to make the hard decisions and live with them. I wonder if it is time we did the same… I watched her make decision after decision these past weeks. Every option we give her, every movement we make, she is decisive and just… it is not so much that I wish to simply _give_ her the position as it is that she has already filled the role.” Her voice was filled with an understanding he wished he possessed, the knowledge of a Seeker whose faith had been tested and broken and reforged in diamond and steel. 

“So you think she has risen to the occasion? We needed a leader and she stepped forward without question… I suppose that’s indicative of any leader’s skills.” He found his admiration in their Mage leader growing with every word. If she could gain the respect of Seeker Cassandra… and even perhaps her veneration…

“Our people follow her, they whisper her name to each other and bow to her as if she truly _was_ the Herald…” She rubbed her shoulder. “She is easily friends with Dwarves and Elves and Qunari and Humans alike, I’ve never seen someone as… _amicable_.” The last word was as dry and humorless as any of the others but her mouth curved up in an unmistakable smirk.  
  
“She is friendly,” he humored her.  
  
“Stop your smiling,” she warned. “No one in this camp takes my meaning.”  
  
“It’s the accent.”  
  
“You are walking a dangerous path, Commander,” she warned as she walked away. He smiled to himself.  
  
“Don’t we all, these days?” He rather enjoyed the glowering look she shot him over her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

After being poked and prodded by the healers it was all she could do to throw herself into a chair in the tavern and drop her head onto the table. She hadn’t noticed how the bar had gone quiet upon her entrance, how curious eyes followed her every move, she had grown used to attention as a Mage.  
  
“Long day and a longer night?” A barmaid asked.  
  
“Oh… yes... “ She lifted her head with a sigh.  
  
“We have procured some fine brandy and port from the Chantry’s stores if you’d like?”  
  
“A good strong stout would do me better,” she offered a tired smile. “Whatever you think is best.”  
  
“Of course My Lady,” the maid bowed away.  
  
“Yes?” She noticed some of the younger soldiers watching her as the sound around them resumed, just as curious about them as they were of her.  
  
“Forgive them,” it was Cullen’s voice that spoke to her and her eyes settled on him near the middle of the table. “They’re only curious.”  
  
“Cullen? Slumming it with the recruits?” A Templar in the corner hooted at him and he waved the man off as he rose.  
  
“May I join you?” He asked and she watched interest flicker on his face as she pushed the seat across from her out with her boot. “How are the others?”  
  
“Solas is nursing a headache and Varric ate a funny stew but otherwise we’re unharmed. Cassandra took a bit of a blow for me, sometimes I get lost in casting and forget to defend myself.” She chuckled and lifted her hand for her beer. The first swig went down like lava, thick and bitter on her tongue with notes of fruit and spice that warmed her belly and spread to her fingertips.  
  
“Did you punch someone?” He arched an eyebrow at the bandages wrapped around her knuckles and wrist.  
  
“You’ve been dying to ask that, haven’t you?” She chuckled. He opened his hand in acquiescence, leaning back in his chair and thrusting one leg out in front of him. She couldn’t help the smile his posture dragged out of her, the Templar swagger was a constant even if he didn’t realize it.  
  
“What are you smiling about?” His question seemed so innocent she couldn’t help but take pity on him.  
  
“I did punch a Templar a few days ago,” she nodded and nearly felt the room still, eager to listen to more.  
  
“Did you now?”  
  
She could remember the moment, even here in this tavern with all its warmth and flickering flames:

Armor bright in the daylight, eyes fierce, gilded sword scraping against her staff, her feet sliding in the dirt. He snarled at her, swearing at her, cursing her. He told her what he’d do to her body when she died, what they did to Apostates. He lifted his shield to bash her but she struck first, tapping the last resources of her magic to reinforce her blow. The crack of his jaw, the dull thud of her knuckles against the shining steel of his helm, the blood spewing from his mouth a fine mist against the back of his shield.  
  
“Herald?” His voice broke her reverie and she lifted her eyes to his. “Are you alright?” His fingers had touched hers, concern evident.  
  
“I don’t like it when Templars get that close to me,” she answered hollowly. He withdrew his hand ever so slightly, brows dipping. “I… not you… I meant…” She tapped the table for a moment with her nails, agitated. “I like Templars… you have a rough job. I am not a fan of fighting them.”  
  
“I doubt anyone would be, we’re fearsome in battle even without lyrium,” he huffed a laugh and she prayed that whatever odd tension she’d created had faded. “It was rough out there, huh?” His voice lowered.  
  
“It was… not easy,” she shook her head, “but we accomplished a lot. If I never have to hunt goats again in my life I think I’d be happy, though?”  
  
“You did a lot of good, Cassandra told me.”  
  
“Cass--” She hadn’t expected Cassandra to give her a glowing recommendation but the _way_ he said it. ‘You did a lot of _good_. Cassandra _told me.’_  
  
“Don’t look so surprised, Cassandra respects you,” he told her. “Why don’t you take another drink? I’ve kept you from enjoying yourself.”

 “Of course,” she curled her hands around her mug, never taking her eyes off him as she drank.

 

* * *

 

He knew what had happened when she’d stopped and it made anger rise in his chest, but she was a warrior and she knew the risks… even then… It wasn’t hard to recognize someone who was still in the throes of understanding a near death experience, in the late stages of panic that seeped into the blood after a battle.

She had never needed to face someone so close before, she had never let the steel of a blade so close to her skin, she had obviously never taken a man’s life in quite the same way he had… he supposed Mages didn’t have to. Perhaps that was why they were dangerous in a way? Running a blade through an enemy’s gut was a much more intimate act than boiling their blood or freezing their bodies.

“Are you alright?” He asked, letting her fingers touch his once more in a strangely comfortable gesture.  
  
“Yes I’m…” she lingered on the words. “I always loved Templars.”  
  
“Did you?” He tilted his head curiously. He hadn’t expected that, and he certainly didn’t expect what came next.  
  
“Yes of course, with their valor and shining armor and gallant heroes… how could you not? Even when I was a child in the Circle I admired them. How how they marched so neatly in line like a hundred toy soldiers, how bright their eyes, how handsome their winged helmets…”  
  
“All the trappings of fairy princes?” He gave a snort of derision. “The Templar life _does_ seem romantic, doesn’t it?” Hearing it put in the words of an outsider, from someone who had obviously once looked upon the Order with admiration, it was a stark contrast to the truth.  
  
“When I first arrived at the Circle I was alone,” she said. “I had left my sister and my family behind, I hadn’t been away from them before.”  
  
“You have a sister?” He asked with interest.  
  
“Yes an older sister named Lisette, and a younger brother...” Her eyes dropped to the side and a subtle change in her lips said her mood had changed.

  
“Is there something else bothering you?” He sensed she wanted to stop talking about her family, perhaps it was too painful to bear whatever thoughts they brought her.  
  
“Could we… talk somewhere else?” She asked, ever so softly.  
  
“Of course,” he rose and followed her out, surprised by her quick movements… though he supposed he was frequently surprised by her. He was chilled by the night air, swinging his cloak around his shoulders, but she didn’t seem bothered. A Mage’s endurance was by far their main advantage… besides summoning fire at will and striking foes with lightning.  
  
For a long moment they were quiet, only the snow beneath their feet gave way to sound as they walked to the farthest trebuchet. He had questions now, a hundred questions that bumped against each other and rallied for the front of his mind. She was beautiful in the moonlight, there was nothing stopping him from admitting that. If he were more eloquent he’d describe her like a painting, perhaps how Varric would in one of his wretched romance novels Cullen wouldn’t _dare_ to admit he’d rather liked, though he supposed if he’d had the words to describe someone like her he would.

For now he described nothing. For now he took in deep breaths of the cold Haven air and looked where her gaze wandered, watching the snow fall between them.  
  
“It’s strange. Everyone I knew died at the Conclave.” Her voice was so loud it made him jump. “All the Mages I had… walked with and worked with and lived with. All the Mages I’d seen after their Harrowings. All the young ones who were still just Apprentices…” She laughed haughtily. “My family… I love them, pious as they are, but they couldn’t understand what I went through there or what the Rebellion was like… but my friends… Evangeline and Francis and William… people I had known since I had joined the Circle that had welcomed me as a child… they’re all dead, Commander.” 

He couldn’t help but reach out to her, place his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. It was a small action, yet another action he was uncertain of when it came to her. He watched her, waited for her to cry, but no tears came. She turned her defiant face to the Breach and set her jaw and watched the green ether lapping at the edges of the sky, as if she might stare it down until it burst into nothingness like the Rifts she so masterfully commanded now.  
  
He recognized the emotions in her tired eyes, recognized the set to her jaw and the pain in her voice. He had felt the same way before, had been unmade and remade in new form, and had hated because of it. He’d known the kind of grief and loss that brought no tears because tears couldn’t return the dead. What he didn’t understand was how, despite all that, she remained so whole. The purity of her spirit, her determination to keep moving forward despite her burdens… the man he had been bowed before her. There was so much to this woman he had yet to understand.  
  
“I’m sorry Commander I…”  
  
“Cullen.”  
  
“I’m sorry?” She looked up to him and he squeezed her shoulder gently.  
  
“You can call me Cullen, Herald,” he offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

 

* * *

 

She looked into his eyes with a sudden understanding, “Cullen, then.” She earned the faintest of nods. “I--”  
  
“Commander Cullen! The scouts have returned from the mountains!” A soldier found them, running from the camp towards the trebuchet. “They have… I’m sorry? Am I interrupting something?” He bowed to Arielle and she smiled, letting her hand linger on Cullen’s before he withdrew it.  
  
“No, we were just talking,” she looked to him as he lingered, standing between her and the scout for only a moment.  
  
“I should... attend to that,” she watched him duck his head to the side, eyes on hers, before leaving with the scout, only briefly glancing over his shoulder at her.  
  
Her moment of weakness, or perhaps moment of clarity, had drawn him slightly closer.


	3. Who, moving others, are themselves as stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I got you another chapter today!
> 
> I'm on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)** and I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> I'm also tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!

Oh yes they’d heard about what happened in Val Royeaux. He’d seen the grim look on Leliana’s face when the raven had arrived, heard Josephine’s soft curse. They weren’t clear on the details but he couldn’t say he was surprised. What he _could_ say was that Arielle’s arrival with the First Enchanter Vivienne and a gruff looking Elven rogue _was_ a surprise. He couldn’t help but think back to Cassandra’s admiration for their leader’s gregariousness, grinning when she made her way through the recruits to see him.  
  
“What are you smiling about?” Arielle asked him, folding her hands behind her back. “I feel like it might be something devious?”  
  
“I am never devious,” he handed a noteboard over to a scout and curled his hand around the hilt of his sword comfortably.  
  
“ _That_ is a lie,” she called him out and his heart fluttered at the wickedness of her grin, the easy way she smiled and joked.

He certainly couldn’t say he hadn’t missed her.

“You have me pinned, I’m afraid,” he sighed and immediately regretted his words with the flash of interest in her eyes.  
  
Her next questions, about his life as a Templar, his time in the Circle, his _oaths_. Oh she’d taken his slip of the tongue to heart… and when she’d asked if _he’d_ taken the oaths of celibacy… his mouth went dry.  
  
“M-Me? Why would…” he cleared his throat. “I… have taken no such oath…” he could have lied, he could have kept her at bay with a few simple words.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Maker’s breath could we speak of something else?” He said around his sluggish tongue and the warmth her eyes stroked in his gut.  
  
“Of course,” her manner returned to professional immediately and his respect for her grew further. “Tell me something?”  
  
“What’s that?” He asked cautiously. She had already cornered him once before, he didn’t like having his back against a wall.

“Herald!” Cassandra interrupted them. “Were we not leaving for Redcliffe?”  
  
“Redcliffe? What for?” Cullen felt confusion seep into his blood. He knew the rebel Mages were there… it couldn’t be that she…?  
  
“We’re going to speak to Grand Enchanter Fiona, she asked us to come,” the Herald turned back to him and his fears were confirmed. He had to restrain his desire to confront her here, to ask her why, but he supposed it was his own sense of betrayal and… his own foolishness to think she’d--

“We’re only going to _talk_ , Commander Cullen,” Cassandra must have noticed his indecision and put it to rest. “She requested we join her at the tavern, nothing more.” But he knew she supported the Mage’s Rebellion, at least to some extent he did as well, it just didn’t seem like the best idea to pour magic into something they didn’t understand… even with how powerful their leader was...

_What if it destroys her?_

The thought hit him like a herd of halla as they said their goodbyes, and for a moment he could see a world where Arielle’s easy smile was no more.

“I’ll see you when we get back, Cullen.” She grinned, following Cassandra.  
  
 _Oh Maker please don’t let that happen._

 

* * *

  

She found Dorian charming, to say the least, with his devilish sense of humor and mischievous grace. He was someone she could easily relate to: a Mage with a history of mistakes, a noble family, and a knack for wit. He was a joy to talk to on the way back to Haven, even if the situation surrounding his joining them was a dark one. She could almost _taste_ Vivienne’s dislike of the man, and that made her grin.

Her first thought was Cullen, and just how much he would enjoy Dorian’s company. Dorian with his grandstanding and _strutting_ to match Cullen’s stride and quiet pride. Dorian was the peacock to Cullen’s eagle. A peacock knows its beauty and prides itself in it, an eagle is a hunter, priding itself only in its prowess.

Both birds of prey, majestic in their own right, apex predators with skills honed by time and determination.

“It would behoove us to move quickly on this, yes?” Dorian asked her one night while they sat by the campfire. They were into the mountains now, soon to be in Haven, and he had donned a cloak only _Dorian_ could wear.

She looked to him, “How do you keep your mustache so perfect?”  
  
He glowed with the praise, “I use a wax from back home in Tevinter, hard to get in these parts but I’m sparing.” He stroked his fingers over the hair and she laughed.  
  
“Here I thought it might be magic,” Arielle said.  
  
“No unfortunately coiffure spells are rare, though I did once hear of a magister that used alchemy to keep from growing bald… tricky business.”  
  
“You’re a prize…” Cassandra told him dryly over the fire.  
  
“And you are a dear.”  
  
“He’s a right fancy wotsit’s what ‘e is,” Sera interjected, fiddling with an arrow between her fingers. “Tevinter’s full’a--”

“Yes, yes we’re _horrible_ and _full of ourselves_ and we can’t go a single day without murder or we get bored… actually that’s quite right,” he mused.

“Well at least he’s _honest_ ,” Vivienne sniffed.  
  
“I am _always_ honest.” He seemed to catch on, “You avoided my question?”  
  
“I… suppose I did…” she smiled bitterly and rose to walk to the edge of the firelight under the eyes of her companions.  
  
“Is she always this mysterious?” He asked.

“Moving one way or another may lose us allies: either we go to speak with the Templars and make a deal with the Lord Seeker or we help the Mages… it would seem we do not have the resources for both.” Cassandra offered a minimal explanation. “I am not sure I could make that decision.”

“She’s obviously conflicted,” Vivienne said with concern in her voice. “I should not wish her cares to anyone in the world.”  
  
She heard Dorian rise and found him beside her with a few short steps. He was tall, perhaps as tall as Cullen, and he smelled of fine wax and oils… and his soft sigh as he folded his arms behind his back said he wasn’t unaware of what she was thinking.  
  
For a long moment neither of them spoke, her new friend simply waited beside her, flipping through the spell book at his hip as if he didn’t notice her toying with the fastens on her gauntlets or the long ends of her hair draped over her shoulder.  
  
“You have many hard decisions to make,” he said with all seriousness. “I do not envy you.”  
  
“I must let my companions rest, I have a chance to make a detour to meet another party interested in joining the Inquisition… I should do that…”  
  
“Send in some of your spies then? At least to keep an eye on Felix.” He offered.  
  
“You care about him?” She looked up curiously.  
  
“He’s a very dear friend and while I’m sure he could handle himself… I would like to know if he is alright.”  
  
“Alright I will do that for you, but I must attend to a few other things before I…”  
  
“Whatever decision you make will, undoubtedly, change the course of the war… I understand your hesitance but the longer you wait the more people will die. I don’t know much about you, Herald, but I know what weight rests on your shoulders… don’t let that burden drown you. You _mustn’t_ drown.” She met his eyes and found determination there, a set to his face, that was not usually present with his jovial nature.  
  
“Why must I make the decision?” She asked finally.  
  
“Because no one else is capable, it would seem. No one _wants_ to make the _hard_ decisions, Herald. Why do you think Tevinter stands in the ruins of its former glory? You are the one _all_ of Thedas looks to now, for better or for worse.”  
  
She searched his face a moment longer, learning the wrinkles around his eyes and the lashes to which snow clung as he looked so deeply into her eyes she thought he might see into her soul… and the muscle that tightened in his jaw before she answered.  
  
“What would you do?”  
  
“What anyone would do, I would stand in the center of it all and collapse under the pressure of standing by and allowing innocents die because of my decisions. Someone must lose, Herald, and it _cannot_ be you.”  
  
She nodded firmly, spirit emboldened by his words. “Thank you, Dorian.”  
  
His face softened into his usual smirk and he tweaked her chin. “Chin up. I’ll be along for the ride if you decide to go to Redcliffe. For now I’ll help as much as I can in Haven.”  
  
“You really are a prize.”  
  
“You flatter me.”

 

* * *

 

The relief he felt when she returned was dampened by the slump of her shoulders and the appearance of her new companion. He’d met Tevinters before, had seen the strut in their walk and the pride in their crumbling country… perhaps her gregariousness really should be questioned. He thought, for a moment, she might call them to the War Room to discuss her next move but before he could talk to her she had left camp for the Storm Coast with Vivienne, Cassandra, and Varric in tow.  
  
He supposed he’d thought she’d come talk to him about what had happened, but instead all he received was her gaze on her march out, filled with a melancholy he rarely witnessed from her.  
  
“Sad she’s gone?” He started at the unfamiliar voice. “I’m sorry, I was just watching.”  
  
“Blunt aren’t you?” Cullen asked. “I’m sure everyone in the camp feels loss when our parties go out.” He looked at his paperwork to avoid the man that was now looking him over. He didn’t like fancy nobles with their fine clothes and overly potent perfumes… and he certainly didn’t like Tevinter Mages.  
  
“New beard?” He caught himself scratching at the stubble on his cheek at the Mage’s words. “It’s always the worst when the hair first starts growing.”  
  
“I… usually shave every day,” he felt disarmed.  
  
“Dorian Pavus,” Dorian smiled when he finally looked up and Cullen couldn’t help the weak tug at his lips. “I suppose following the strict regulations of the Templars for all those years _would_ lead you to rebelling and growing a beard.”  
  
He laughed at that, “I simply don’t have the time anymore. Who has time to shave when there’s an army to train?”  
  
“Point taken,” Dorian smiled. “ _Are_ you sad?”  
  
“Like I said, it’s common for a base camp to feel loss when their raiding groups leave,” he dismissed. If he was being truthful he would say that of course he was sad, of course he missed her. He was frustrated, having thought all this time she’d been away that they’d finally broken through the strange barrier they’d built between them. He’d thought that her opening up about her loss at the Conclave had been a stepping stone, that her probing questions from before had shown her interest.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t aware I was asking all of Haven? Let me rephrase that: are _you_ sad?” His sarcasm made Cullen’s heart lift just slightly, smiling wryly as he leant his noteboard against his hip.  
  
“I had expected her to come talk to me, is all.” He cleared his throat, shrugging a shoulder in an attempt to be nonchalant. “I… am one of her advisors.”  
  
“Perhaps she’s afraid of what you would say?” Dorian suggested.  
  
“What I would say to what? Why are you here asking me questions?” He finally came to his senses.  
  
Dorian chuckled, “I was just curious about you. Everyone speaks so highly of Commander Cullen and his army.”  
  
“Do they? You’re flattering me,” he passed off a piece of paper to a passing scout, nodding at the report.

“I do that sometimes,” Dorian smirked. “I’m sure she’ll talk to you when she returns… until then would you like to get a drink? I am terribly thirsty and none of your young soldiers seems capable of keeping up.”  
  
He laughed again, feeling that laughter bubbling up in his belly was worth a drink, “Sure once I’m done with work.”  
  
“Fantastic, I’ll make the necessary preparations.” Dorian clapped his hands together and started off, leaving Cullen wondering just _what_ exactly he meant by preparations. Or  _why_ he had agreed in the first place.

 

* * *

 

The Iron Bull, that was the name he had chosen, but perhaps it was more suited for the Mage that stood before him. She was small and fragile, as humans often appeared, but there was power in her stance and in her magic… that he had seen.  
  
“They did manage to bring the kegs on the road didn’t they?” She stood with her hands folded behind her back, like a soldier. He could almost see her with a sword at her side and a shield at her back.  
  
“They like to party,” he laughed whole heartedly. “Do you not?”  
  
“Someone has to keep an eye out, we’ve taken out the problems in this area but we’re still not close enough to Haven to be comfortable.” She looked up at him, eye discerning.  
  
“Smart, good leadership, I like you.”  
  
“That’s the fastest anyone’s liked me before. You don’t mind that I’m a Mage?”  
  
“A Mage is a warrior, same as any other. Just because you deal your death with flames doesn’t mean it’s not still an honorable fight, Boss.” He mimicked her stance, wondering if perhaps it held some purpose.  
  
“I thought Mages among your people were… feared I suppose?”  
  
“Ha! But you are not Qunari, and I do not fear you.”

“Herald,” Cassandra joined them, looking him over curiously. “Scouts have been sent from Haven, when we return we may…”  
  
“Yes I know,” he wondered what they were referring to. He was new, simply a hired hand at this point, but that didn’t make him any less interested. “The Inquisition is at an impasse.”  
  
“Oh? And I suppose you’re to decide the direction?”  
  
“It would seem,” Cassandra folded her arms. “What matters is closing the Breach.”  
  
“Whatever it is me and my Chargers will be there with you,” he assured.  
  
“We’ll need you,” the Herald told him and he grinned again.  
  
“Of course you do! Why else would you draft us?” He liked the indignation on the warrior’s face at his laugh.  
  
“We did not _draft_ you. You offered.” She corrected, as if he didn’t know.  
  
“Cassandra,” the Herald said with a touch of a laugh. “When we get back we’ll make a move. Can you make sure the War Council is ready the day after tomorrow?”  
  
“Two days is a long time to wait, Herald…” he could read the concern on the Seeker’s face, glancing to the Herald. It was interesting how humans interacted, how orders could be questioned and decided and _discussed_ in a way it never was under the Qun.  
  
“Then go on ahead and we’ll meet you there?” Arielle said.

The Seeker hesitated, he could see the desire for her to remain at her leader’s side to protect her and the idea of returning to Haven and preparing the council. His respect for her blossomed; from the set of her jaw and the devotion of her companions… a good leader was hard to come by, a good leader whose soldiers dared not leave their side.

“It will be fine, I will stay,” Cassandra decided and Arielle smiled, reaching to grip her shoulder reassuringly.  
  
“We’re almost home.”  
  
“Krem! Get our Seeker a drink!” Bull said loudly. “She could use one!”  
  
“I do not need--”  
  
“Come on Cassandra I’ll get one with you,” she hooked elbows with Cassandra and dragged her towards the fire.  
  
“You are a liar!”  
  
“I’ve always wanted to know what the Seeker was like under the influence,” Varric offered from the fireside, countering her protest.  
  
“Continue to wonder!” Cassandra spit like a wet cat, but a smile still crept onto her face.

Iron Bull couldn’t stop his laughter, finding that he was doing much of late. He did not regret, for a moment, joining this band of misfits.

 

* * *

 

Arielle wanted to pass out in the snow the moment they crossed the threshold into Haven. They’d been on the move for weeks since Orlais, perhaps since the Conclave… she couldn’t remember anymore. She _had_ intended to go to her cabin to get some rest… but ended up at the practice field. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t stop walking until a hand caught her shoulder.

“Are you alright? You almost stepped into a fire pit.” She looked down to see that she had indeed, then leaned into Cullen’s grip just slightly.  
  
“It’s good to see you again,” she smiled and earned a soft smile in return, wrapping her hand around his wrist.  
  
“I think it’s time you took a break, Herald.” He said softly and guided her away from the flames. “You’re exhausted. Let me see you to your cabin.”  
  
“I’m alright, I sleep fine at night...” she protested weakly but his grip on her shoulder was tight and unrelenting. “Maybe you’re right… I’ve been pushing myself too hard. Josephine said the same thing when I saw her.”  
  
“The Inquisition won’t know what to do without you… you have to take care of yourself,” he said.  
  
She knew he was right, that running herself ragged trying to please everyone wasn’t really helping anyone but…  
  
“I’ve been running away,” she whispered, letting him guide her into the cabin.  
  
“What?” He took her staff and leant it against the wall but she could feel his eyes on her as she walked over to the bed.  
  
“I’ve been hiding… because I don’t know the answer,” she slumped down onto the edge of the bed, gripping her face in her hands. “I don’t know… everyone looks at me with these big ideas and these hopeful eyes and I… don’t know…” She could hear him toss logs into the flames, felt the fear that he might think less of her because of her indecision.

 

* * *

 

He felt pity in his heart for her immediately, yet also a strange resolve that steeled his blood. He walked over to her and knelt down, taking her wrists in his hands and pulling her hands free of her face. For a moment he marvelled at how slender and delicate her fingers seemed, despite their power and ran his thumbs over her palms, feeling the Anchor in her skin. He said nothing, letting her tired eyes search his.  
  
“You going to give me a grand speech now?” She asked wryly and he sighed, laughing away the tension.  
  
“I can’t say anything you haven’t heard before. Pressure from everyone is bearing down on you and I… I know I’m a part of that.” He watched her fingers curl around his hands, heart tight in his chest. “Whatever decision you make you will make it well.”  
  
“If it’s not the decision you want?”  
  
“I…” his voice broke. The Templars only needed to be negotiated with, but the Mages were in a dire situation… he supposed that was her reasoning. “You will go to Redcliffe?”  
  
“He’s manipulating time… I can’t ignore that.”  
  
“ _Whatever_ decision you make,” he said again more firmly, “make it one _you_ will not regret.” He set his face, waiting for a flicker of indecision on her face.

“I would regret losing you,” she said it so sincerely he was concerned his heart had altogether stopped beating.

She leaned in ever so slightly and he desperately wanted to oblige, to lift off his knee and lean into her mouth and kiss her and finally fulfill the thought that invaded his mind each time she spoke. The thought of having her skin beneath his hands and the taste of her mouth in his took his breath away and a realization trickled down the back of his neck… so instead he caught a hand against the side of her face and watched her eyes sadden.  
  
“You would not lose me. The Inquisition would not lose me. Even if I disapprove, even if I don’t like the order of events… I trust you.”

 

* * *

 

 _I trust you_. Those were the words he’d said. Not _‘Our people need you’_ or _‘The fate of the world is on your shoulders’_.

I trust _you._

“Thank you, Cullen,” she placed her hand on his, closing her eyes to relish the rough pads of his palm against her cheek. His hands were strong and warm and rough, the hands of a soldier. She liked having him this close, liked the way he smelled like spices and ash and metal. Lyrium still lingered on him, faint as it was beneath the others.  
  
“Anything for you, Herald,” his voice lowered an octave.  
  
“Herald, the Seeker wants to see you!” A soldier opened the door to the cabin and Cullen rose sharply.  
  
“She’s exhausted, tell Cassandra--”  
  
“No, Commander it’s fine,” she touched his hand, standing up. “I’ll see her now. Tell the other council members to meet us in the Chantry.”

There was no avoiding the glance cast between them, or the others they would receive once they emerged.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's a cutie pie help me. Also Cullen has a weakness for mages you can't lie to me.
> 
> See you next time! _For Redcliffe hue hue hue_ <3


	4. Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sad things happen and Dorian is a cockblock. Also locking doors saves a lot of grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ON A FUCKING ROLL. Anyway I've spoiled you all a hell of a lot today because I'm going to be gone for the next few days (Thanksgiving and all that) so you have four chapters to mull over unless I decide to write while I'm on break (which I very well might). Enyoy.
> 
> [Art for this chapter! (and several others).](http://sketchingsparrow.tumblr.com/post/109593404439/sketch-commissons-for-jocunditea)

“I’ll see you when we get back, _Cullen_.”

 _I should have kissed her_.

“I would regret losing you.”

 _Why? Why didn’t I say something then?_  

“I won’t be gone long, don’t look like that,” she’d laughed and put his heart at ease.

 _I loved you. I was a fool_.

He had imagined a world without her for the briefest of moments. He never thought he would live in it.

He wondered, laying in a pool of his own blood, why he hadn’t acted. He felt as though he were watching his life in slow motion, all the times he could have kissed her… all the times he could have said something more… all the times… His breathing broke sharp against open ribs and he wondered if the Maker was truly merciful to allow him to cling to life this long with his dead comrades about him and a spear in his chest.

But there was no Maker. 

Not anymore.

There was the Elder One and his millions that had flooded the world. There was the Breach in the sky above him, now so large not a single star remained. There was no Maker, and no Herald.

“Arielle,” he said her name aloud, felt it rough in his throat and dry against his bloodied lips. His dry eyes burned with relief as tears dampened them, cutting through the blood and dirt on his face. Of all the regrets in his life, and there were many, she was the one he thought of now.

 _I failed you._  

The pain had subsided now, or perhaps it was so overwhelming he had simply become numb to it. He closed his eyes, fingers slack against the ground.

If only he’d had one last chance. If he had one last chance he wouldn’t let it go to waste... not like this.

 

* * *

  

“I won’t be gone long, don’t look like that,” she laughed. He’d been standing at the front door of her cabin for a few minutes now, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“You’re going to deal with a mad man, Herald, I can’t help but be worried.”  
  
“Alright worry then. Why are you in here? Any other reason beyond pouting?” She asked slyly and turned to him, battlemage robes firmly in place. 

“I am not… I came to say goodbye,” he cleared his throat. “You were… upset a few days ago.”

“I’m doing alright,” she smiled, slinging her staff over her shoulder. “Thank you for comforting me, I’m sorry I was a bit of a burden.”  
  
“You are never… don’t think yourself a burden. There are many here who care for you… your well being, I mean.”  
  
“Uh huh,” she felt affection bubble in her chest as she mimicked dusting something from his furs. “I will miss you, too.”  
  
He cleared his throat again and she touched the side of his face. “I… will see you when you get back. I’ll try to arrange a meeting with the Templars while you’re away.”  
  
“Don’t strain yourself,” she felt her breath catch in her throat as he leaned down, curling a hand around her waist. A kiss. He was going to kiss her.  
  
“Herald we should be on our way.” He separated from her like lightning when Dorian opened the door.  
  
“Of course, Dorian, thank you.” She smiled apologetically. Dorian looked between them and Cullen shot him a dirty look, one Arielle hadn’t missed. “I will see you when we get back.” She touched the side of his face and followed Dorian out. 

When she looked back at him he was watching her with regret in his eyes and it nearly broke her heart.

_When I return. When I come back we’ll take all the time we need._

 

* * *

 

She did not return.

In fact by the time she realized how long it had been she’d barely given a thought to anything else beyond finding the amulet. Arriving in water up to her knees with only Dorian by her side nearly had her in a panic, but finding her companions and seeing the condition they were in…

 _What has been done?_  
  
“An entire year?” Her own voice sounded hollow in her ears.  
  
“Do you… know what happened to the rest of the Inquisition?” Dorian asked.

 _Cullen_.

She wanted to vomit, right then and there. She might have if not for Dorian’s hand gripping her upper arm tightly and keeping her grounded.  
  
“They all died. The Elder One destroyed them. I heard Commander Cullen tried to protect the last human cities.” Cassandra offered, her voice inhuman.  
  
 _An entire year._

“We have to get back. We need to get back.” She said again and Dorian nodded. “We can’t let this happen.”  
  
“Please… undo all of this…” Fiona begged, voice fading.  
  
“We will,” Dorian’s voice was more assured than Arielle’s, though his hand on her arm was gripping almost painfully tight. “Come on, we need to find Leliana.”  
  
None of them spoke for a long while on their trek up and Arielle tried to pull herself back together… but all she could picture was Cullen being speared on the end of a Darkspawn sword.

 

* * *

 

Waiting for them to return was torture, Cullen worked tirelessly through every day and every night, waiting for word. One such night, goaded by Josephine, he sat in the Chantry and talked with her while she worked… the company seemed to help them both, keeping them from fretting for the moment. She was a lovely woman, kind and pleasant, but being around her only made him miss Arielle more.  
  
“Havin’ a party?” Sera opened the door, peering in at them. “I brought you cake, you look overworked.” She offered them both plates. Why was she always offering him cake?  
  
“Where did you get cake?” Josephine asked and Cullen couldn’t help but laugh.  
  
“Dunno, Bull had it on ‘im and left it to us.”  
  
“Anything the Iron Bull has to offer sounds mightily suspicious,” Vivienne’s voice joined next.  
  
“Did you bring the entire camp to the Chantry?” Cullen stood up.  
  
“Nah just a few, the soldiers’re worried,” Sera shrugged a shoulder and he was glad that she was there with her crass humor and sharp wit. She was a suitable replacement for Arielle for now, they needed someone to cut through the fat.  
  
“Sera was also worried,” Vivienne informed.  
  
“If you wasn’t worried too you wollen’t be here,” Sera shot back.  
  
“Why is everyone so worried? The Herald has been gone before,” Josephine leaned forward at her desk. 

“Perhaps its not that she is gone, but where she went?” Solas’s voice joined. “I was told there was cake.”  
  
Josephine sighed and again Cullen laughed. “Here you can have mine,” he offered the plate to Solas and earned a grateful nod.  
  
“Did I miss my invite?” Varric was next and Josephine gave up, putting her papers down. “Saw a line of people coming in, thought I’d investigate.”  
  
“Thought that, did you?” Vivienne said with disdain. “Why _is_ everyone in here?”  
  
“Waiting for word, most likely,” Varric answered finally. “If any ravens come they’ll come to Josephine first.”  
  
“Her actions at this meeting could not only determine the fate of the Inquisition but also the fate of the world,” Solas said.

Cullen felt more at ease in this moment than he had since Arielle had left, sitting back to let the others talk. He knew soon they would know the outcome, soon Arielle would come riding back into the camp on her hart. He doodled absently on a scout report, sketching the shape of her face and the angle of her nose.  
  
“That’s quite good,” Sera told him and he eyed her suspiciously. “I din’t know you could draw?” But she said it more like _drawl_.

“I…” The room had fallen quiet, he hadn’t realized the others had trickled out. “Thank you, I suppose.”

“She’ll be ahrite,” Sera’s small hand on his shoulder was strangely reassuring.  
  
“You _are_ worried about her?” He chuckled.  
  
“Don’ think on it’! My meal ticket’ll be gone if she goes.” She huffed, folding her arms.  
  
The raven that fluttered in took all their breaths away. It cawed, landing on Josephine’s desk with fluttering wings. Cullen could almost hear the entire village take a deep breath and hold it.

Nothing after that was the same. 

There were no more joyful voices, nor teasing and jesting.

After the moment they’d read the message he’d been on the move. They’d held out at Haven, gained what little power they could without Arielle. He tried to take the reigns like her, tried to make the decisions she did…

_“I’ve been hiding… because I don’t know the answer.”_

He could hear her voice in his head, he could finally understood what it was like to be in her shoes if only for a moment. They looked to him in her place, they asked him to help… and he could do nothing. Without Arielle the Inquisition was lost. Without Cassandra the Inquisition was lost.

“For the Herald!” He led them, he took up Arielle’s banner and fought in her stead. Every death of every horror was in her name. He took lyrium to survive, with no one else there to help how could he not? How could he trust himself without it if Cassandra wasn’t there?

_How could you have died?_

That was his thought as his last soldier fell outside the walls of Redcliffe. Around him bodies lay in bloodied marshes, blood -like water- clung to his boots and seeped into his pant legs. He tried to call to arms, to summon any strength he had, stumbling over a soldier’s hand as he reached out for his Commander. He could hear a creature form behind him, turning with his blade in hand.  
  
 _Is this what it comes to?_

He looked at the monster that had run him through and felt the ground rushing up to meet him.

_This is how I die._

Blood seeped into his clothes now, perhaps his own or perhaps the blood of his soldiers. Did it matter?

_“I’ll see you when we get back...”_

  

* * *

 

“You’ll have to do better than that,” his voice was cocksure as they appeared through the rift.

To be quite honest Arielle didn’t feel nearly as certain as Dorian, in fact watching the darkspawn throw Cassandra’s dead body onto the floor and watching Leliana give her life in the last seconds…

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra breathed and hurried to Arielle’s side, only to be wrapped in a rather ungraceful hug. “Herald?” She lifted an awkward hand and pat her back. “Arielle?”  
  
She lifted her head and laughed, eyes damp. “I’m so… happy you’re okay…”  
  
“I’m… glad you are safe as well, Herald.” There was a mystified sort of curiosity in Cassandra’s voice as Alexius was taken away.  
  
“I’m glad you’re alright too, Bull.”  
  
“No hug for me? Or were you just grabbing the first person you saw?” He laughed.  
  
“I’m just glad it’s all over,” Dorian sighed. The marching of the Royal guard said otherwise. “...Or not…”  
  
“King Alistair!” Fiona fretted her hands.

Diplomacy wasn’t difficult and offering the Mages a chance to join the Inquisition as equals had her companions confused but not angered. Cassandra, on the other hand, took the chance to speak with the King.

“King Alistair, I have a few questions if you have a chance?”  
  
“Seeker Cassandra… yes my wife said something about you,” he said with a good natured tilt of his head.  
  
“It’s… about your wife… is she?” Arielle watched the King’s jaw set.  
  
“Queen Ileana will not be joining your Inquisition,” Alistair said. “I’ll allow the Inquisition into Ferelden, of course, but--”  
  
“We just want to know if she’s alright,” Arielle said gently and his face softened.  
  
“Thank you, I’ll let you know when I return,” he told her.

There was something strangely out of place about his response, something that told her not all was well. She could tell Cassandra was thinking the same thing because her right hand turned to look at her.  
  
“We should return to Haven and escort the Mages,” Dorian said.  
  
“Right… we don’t have much time, the faster we get back to deal with the Breach… the better,” Arielle smiled.

  

* * *

 

 

Their return was a triumphant one and Cullen couldn’t stop his smile when he saw her, but again it faded. She was grinning and she was certainly happy, but something seemed wrong. Something happened in Redcliffe, he was certain of that much, but he knew he wouldn’t have time to talk to her before they headed out to close the Breach.

Hearing about their experience, however, told him all he needed to know. She seemed haunted, even if that future would never come to pass now, and he wondered what it must have been like… what could have happened if they had never returned. The relief on her face was obvious when Dorian said he’d stay and Cullen felt a pang of jealousy. He didn’t share in battles or raids anymore and the kind of camaraderie that arose from it was something he envied.

“So we fix the Breach tomorrow and then take on the Elder One from there,” Arielle said. “Sounds like a great plan.”  
  
“It’s the only plan we’ve got,” Leliana sighed.  
  
Cullen watched Dorian fall into step with Arielle, heart heavy. They could understand what had happened, the two of them, and they knew what they had seen… he shouldn’t interrupt.  
  
“Cullen?” Josephine stopped beside him and he looked to her sadly. “You’re worried about her?”  
  
“She has quite the burden, doesn’t she? I wish there was something I could do.”  
  
“You already are doing something,” Josephine corrected him.  
  
“Your job,” Cassandra interrupted. “Do your job, Cullen, and that will take a great weight off her shoulders.”  
  
“Of course, Seeker,” he nodded.

The walk back to his tent was a long one, rubbing the knots out of the back of his neck and the tension from one shoulder. He lingered for a moment just outside her cabin, watching Dorian grip her head to steady her, his face close to hers.

He wondered, for a moment, what they were talking about. The way she shook her head, how her long hair was down and tangled, the pressure of tears squeezing her face into a grimace… oh how he wanted to comfort her and shield her from what she faced… but it wasn’t his place this time. No he wouldn’t understand like Dorian, couldn’t empathize like Dorian. That was alright, sometimes that was necessary. He could accept that, for the moment, nothing he said or did would help her through whatever it was that bothered her.

Dorian noticed him first, face softening. Arielle followed his gaze and Cullen lifted a hand to wave, shaking them off when Dorian beckoned him from behind her head. 

He’d turned to leave when he heard her voice over the winds, looking over his shoulder curiously.  
  
“Cullen? Come back,” she was wiping her face as she stepped out. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you.”  
  
“It’s alright, I should head to camp and you need to get some rest.”  
  
“Come, don’t be stubborn,” Dorian said from the doorway and he relented, walking over to the cabin.  
  
“I am sorry I didn’t mean to watch…” he didn’t like the tear stains on her face, he wanted to wipe them away and see that wicked smirk again.  
  
“It’s alright we were making quite the scene,” Dorian offered a smile. “Will you be alright?” He looked to Arielle and she nodded.  
  
“I will be, for now anyway… thank you, Dorian.”  
  
“Any time,” he bumped shoulders with Cullen, grinning as he left.  
  
“What’s… are you…” He lifted his hand futilely and she caught it with her fingers. He didn’t know what to say or how to help.  
  
“I… witnessed a lot of things that I wish I wouldn’t have… if we wouldn’t have made it back…” she touched the lip of a cup of liquid he didn’t recognize.  
  
“What’s--”  
  
“It’s to help me sleep, I was taxed by the events we went through and Dorian was kind enough to bring this for me. I didn’t want to take it but my magic resources are so low right now I won’t be of much use tomorrow without it.”  
  
“Lyrium,” he came to the understanding and she ducked her head in agreement.  
  
“Just a light dose with a sleeping tea,” she gestured. “I… needless to say I quite refused for a while but Dorian had convinced me just as you arrived.”

It had been quite a while since he had been around lyrium, months since he had taken it, and it was strange to hear her refer to it so casually… then again Mages didn’t have the problem normal humans did, the lyrium they took wasn’t as vile or as addicting and saying something like _a light dose_ was so strange to him, even a _light_ dose would have knocked a normal human unconscious.  
  
He realized then that she hadn’t released his hand, and that she was standing before him in her housecoat. He could see the silken fabric of her nightgown through the hastily tied knot, but didn’t linger on it long because his eyes had travelled up. This was the first time he’d seen the open expanse of her neck and decolletage, the first time he’d let his eyes roam anywhere but her face, and for a moment he was spellbound.  
  
“Cullen?” He looked up to meet her eyes and found her smile, devilish as it was. “You could stay the night if you want.”  
  
“Maker’s breath I…” He staggered over his own feet at the screech of the door, nearly knocking over her tea and plowing headlong into Dorian.  
  
“Whoa! Didn’t mean to startle you!” He caught Cullen’s shoulders and steadied him beneath Arielle’s laughter. “I just forgot my kettle.”  
  
“It’s alright I… I was just on my way out,” he choked, pulse racing. He hadn’t expected her to ask such a thing, or even be so bold as to suggest it… he realized, standing out in the snow outside of the cabin, that she had been teasing him but that didn’t make it easy for him to ignore the fact that he was very close to very seriously agreeing.

Oh Maker had he been close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW DORIAN. WOW. JUST WOW.
> 
>  
> 
> also Cullen u fuckin' cutie 


	5. They rightly do inherit heaven's graces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which death occurs and rebirth begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving guys. Have an extra sappy helping of this ridiculous fic.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**  
>  I post tidbits there from time to time while I'm writing and I love answering questions! Hit me up if you're curious!
> 
> I'm also tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!

She’d done it.

She’d destroyed the Breach. 

He almost couldn’t believe his eyes when the green mists vanished, hearing the cheers around him from the soldiers. The most pleasant wind caressed his face, the after effects of the Breach’s closing, and he closed his eyes. There was much to go after this, many long days and nights, but for this night they could breathe easy.

He wanted to seek her out, to speak to her, but she was standing beside and speaking quietly with Cassandra. He liked seeing her candidly, in moments she wasn’t aware of him, it lent him a sight he didn't often see. With him she was feisty and flirtatious, even when her heart was aching she wouldn't spare him a mistake... with others she was somehow different... more subdued. He liked to see the changes, the subtle variations of Arielle Trevelyan, with her friends, with her companions, even with complete strangers.

She and Cassandra had become close, he was more than aware of that, and it gave him a chance to see different sides of both. Cassandra saw Arielle as a leader, as someone she could respect, while for Arielle Cassandra was a confidant and trusted advisor. They were much more than that alone, and it gave them both relief. They were friends sharing a neglected childhood and a bond of sisterhood only forged through battle and near death experiences. He had no doubt that Cassandra would willingly give her life for Arielle, and now doubt Arielle would do the same in return.

“Staring again, I see,” Dorian’s appearances didn’t surprise him anymore, in fact he almost relished it when the Tevinter appeared to tease him. He’d come to trust him, to take his word on Arielle, and he’d come to use him as a means through which he could protect her.  
  
“I was just thinking that once they never would have stood side by side that way,” Cullen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… pleasant.”  
  
“Uh huh,” Dorian didn’t believe him, he knew that, but it didn’t bother him. “They’re thick as thieves those two.”  
  
“And you aren’t?”  
  
“Oh no, we’re thicker than blood,” he protested. “We’re like two peas from a very complicated pod.”  
  
“In _deed_ ,” Cullen drawled.  
  
“Are you _jealous_?” Dorian asked slyly.  
  
“No,” there was no hesitance in his voice. He wasn’t jealous, there was no jealousy of the relationships she held or the affection she had for others. Even if he had been… what right did he have to be jealous of someone he had no claim to?  
  
“Ah,” Dorian seemed to accept that. “I didn’t really think you were, you’re too good.”  
  
“How exactly is one _too_ good?”  
  
“When did you stop taking it?” Cullen felt his blood run cold. “Come on like someone wasn’t going to notice… _she_ might think your ass is blessed by Andraste herself but I… know better.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” He put on a gruff voice, trying desperately not to let him know.  
  
“Don’t bluff me, you have a terrible poker face. I know the symptoms of lyrium withdrawal.”  
  
He wanted to fight back, to argue with this Mage who thought he knew everything, but tonight was a night for celebration and merriment. Tonight was about Arielle and her accomplishments. _Their_ accomplishments. 

“I’m fine.”  
  
The call from a scout had him turning, thankful for the interruption for once.

 

* * *

 

 

She had thought that in a few moments she would find him. That she would grab his face and kiss him for all she was worth. This had been her decision: if she closed the Breach she’d never look back. If she could do what some had thought impossible, yet again, she would kiss every inch of his silly Templar face.

“Why don’t you celebrate?” She had asked Cassandra.  
  
“Why don’t you?”  
  
She had laughed, “Touché.” 

Why did it seem like every time she laughed, every moment she stole to have for herself, shattered under the weight of the mark on her hand? Why did it seem that every time she could relax she found herself running through the snow, pulling wounded in and accepting strangers into their midst? 

She didn’t have time to think on the boy that had just brought such grim tidings, didn’t have time to register the panicked look of pain and fear on Cullen’s face… all she could think was _how do I fix this?_

She raced through the village, hearing cries and casting spells without regard for her already depleted resources. Protecting the trebuchets was simple enough, immolation spells took care of a better part of the twisted Templars that surged toward them.  
  
But that _dragon_.

“HELP! HELP ME PLEASE!” She slid to a stop and looked at the burning building.

“Get the others!” She told Dorian and he nodded briefly, at least she assumed he did because she was already leaping up onto a pile of boxes to run in, casting ice spells to dampen the fire. She could hear Cassandra yelling her name as a beam threatened to collapse above them.

“Thank the Maker you’re here!” Healing spells had never been her strength but she managed what she could, reviving the exhausted villager. 

“Can you walk?” She helped him up, letting him wrap his arm around her neck. “Let’s go.” She blasted the door open, helping him out.  
  
“Bull’s at the tavern! We need to get them to the Chantry!” Dorian said above the screeches of the dragon. “They’re going to take the town!”  
  
“No they’re not!” She froze a mutated Templar in its place and it shattered with a blow from Cassandra’s shield. Another monster was destroyed with a bolt of lightening brought down by Dorian’s skillful casting.

_I won’t lose this village, not like the Conclave._

Once they were inside, once she heard their options, she felt the sinking feeling of fear clawing at her heart. 

Her options, all of them horrible, meant death.  
  
“I’ll go to the trebuchet,” she said over the argument.  
  
“What?” She could almost feel Cullen’s breath catch in his throat and she tore her eyes away from him.  
  
“I’m going to the trebuchet, I’ll give you time to escape.”  
  
“You’re not going alone,” Cassandra told her and walked forward.  
  
“Cassandra I--”  
  
“You’ll need someone to guard your back,” Iron Bull heaved his warhammer over his shoulder.  
  
“Sounds… quite fun, actually,” Dorian spun his staff around his hand.  
  
“I can’t ask you to…”

_If I die you go down with me._

“I will go with the refugees,” Vivienne offered. “We will protect them by Cullen’s side.” Sera nodded from her elbow and Varric grinned, arming Bianca. Solas stood not far behind them, hands curled around his staff, but his fair face was set with just as much determination as the others’.  
  
“Go… get them to the passage,” Cullen directed the soldiers, taking their quiet as an agreement.

“Thank you,” Arielle told them ever so quietly and made to leave.

 

* * *

 

  

He grabbed her wrist and held her there, keeping her from leaving just yet. He wanted to say more, to do more, but all he could do was hold her in place and watch the confusion spill onto her face.

"Cullen?"

"I..." He hesitated, letting her draw close.

"It's alright," she laced her fingers through his, and he fell deaf to the sounds around them for a moment. "I'll see you when I get to the mountains." She caught his face, her thumb running over the scar on his lip. 

"Hera--Arielle..." His voice lowered an octave and for a moment he thought they might make it. He didn’t dare to breathe, eyes half lidded against the light of the Chantry, relaxing only slightly under the caress of her fingers... but her lips touched his cheek and he felt his heart break. It was a goodbye kiss. She didn't want to know what she might be missing. He understood that much but it didn't ease the pain as she released him and turned to her companions.

“Whatever you do… let that bastard hear you!” Cullen told her fiercely.

"We'll see you on the other side!" Dorian said cheerfully, slapping his shoulder. 

"Take care of her..."

“I'll keep her from doing anything stupid, how's that?" He winked. “She’s perfectly capable.”

"Just because she's capable doesn't mean she doesn't need someone watching her back. Bring her back."  
  
“I…” Dorian searched his eyes and Cullen wished, for a moment, that the Mage’s whim would sway his direction. “I’ll bring her back to you.” He nodded seriously and vanished with a whip of his cloak.

_Maker. Not this again._

 

* * *

  

She wasn’t sure what was more painful, the Anchor in her hand or the feeling of her shoulder sliding back into place after being thrown. Of course she stood up, looking into the face of a monster, of course she told him she wasn’t afraid… because she wasn’t. She couldn’t fear this creature, no matter how he tried to threaten her. She could fear what he was capable of, she could fear what she knew he would do to the world if he had his way… but all she felt for him was _pity_. 

He was piteous for thinking he could become a god. He was corrupted and tainted and malicious, but he was not what he thought he was… he was not what he thought he could become. In her last moments, in what she had hoped may be his, she told him to his face what she thought of him.

She told him of his own avarice, of his greed, of how he was blinded by the arrogance that he might become a god. And she had won. At least it felt like she had won, breathless and broken in a freezing puddle of water. She laid there, longer than she should have, and watched the water drip from the stalactites.

_Piteous._

 

* * *

  

He’d heard her cry, heard her tell them to run and get away, and he had listened. He’d glanced back, for only a moment, to see her towered over by a beast… to see her stand as no other Mage had with a spell in one hand and her staff in the other against a monstrous man that emerged from the flames unscathed.

And then he had run. 

He had sprinted hard and fast with Cassandra and the Bull. He had seen Cassandra’s broken face, singed and bloodied from battle, and watched tears she wouldn’t admit to streak through the grime. He’d seen the look of horror on the Bull’s face at the thought of leaving a comrade behind, and felt the bitter sting of loss. 

And he saw Cullen, first and foremost, striding through the snow towards him as they reached the camp. For half a second he thought the former Templar was going to move right past him but instead he found himself pinned to the bark of a tree outside the firelight, the breath forced from his lungs. He struggled, grappling at the knight's powerful arm and the hand that clutched his shirt so tightly it might rip. 

"Where is she?!" His voice was such a growl Dorian thought it might not be human.

"Cullen I--"

"You let her do something stupid! You let her stay behind! Why are you here and she's not?"

He recognized the grief on his face, the devastation, but that was not all he saw. He saw withdrawal and its painful side effects, and the overcharged emotions it brought about.

"I didn't--"

"You should have stayed! You should have found her!"

"I couldn't, Cullen! Do you think I'd be here if it weren't for her sacrifice?" He didn't like the weight of Cullen's arm against his chest, unyielding and painfully strong. "Get a hold of yourself! She might still be alive!”  
  
“Is she?! Do you know? You left her to die with an Archdemon!” He shoved him into the bark harder. “You should have died with her than leave her side! Coward!”  
  
Dorian set his jaw, bearing down Cullen’s glare. “Get a hold of yourself! The Inquisition needs you at your best.” He softened his hand on the former Templar’s wrist and felt Cullen relax slightly. “Are you done now?”  
  
“If we lose her… the Inquisition…”

“She might not be dead, she’s more resilient than that.” Dorian rubbed the back of Cullen’s neck gently. “Come on, at least give her a fighting chance. We’ll send some scouts to check out the remains of Haven and… we couldn’t get to her, Cullen, even if we’d tried.”  
  
“Cullen!” Cassandra’s voice was thick with unintelligible emotion. “We need to move, and quickly.”

 

* * *

 

“But…” Cullen turned to look at her.  
  
“We cannot wait for her any longer,” she told him with ice on her voice. “These refugees need shelter.”  
  
 _What would she say if she saw me like this?_

His resolve slowly trickled back into his body, pushing back the pain that hummed in every nerve ending. His mind cleared and for one sickening second he saw a man he didn’t recognize in his actions.

_I can be without the lyrium. I can do this without it._

He tried to convince himself of that, at least, and pushed himself to straighten up and run his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t become that person again. He didn’t dare to let himself go back to being filled with anger and hatred and vicious disregard for life.

_It’s so much easier to lose it when I have someone else to blame._

“I’m sorry, Dorian.” He said roughly and earned a bark of a laugh.  
  
“I’m just glad you came to your senses. Don’t let sadness control you,” his affectionate clap on the shoulder solidified Cullen’s warming senses. “Don’t count her out yet.”

_I have to be strong for the Inquisition. Even without Arielle._

He could have sworn he saw Dorian smirk out of the corner of his eye, as if the Mage had expected him to recover quickly… he hated Dorian’s smirk.

  

* * *

  

She could summon power from the rifts now. She’d needed to protect herself, arm crushed against her chest, and the Anchor had given her the chance to do so. She hadn’t packed lyrium in her pouches, she knew that, but she sought them out as she trudged through the knee deep snow. She had no magic reserves and she wouldn’t stay alive long without them.

“Maker bless you, Dorian Pavus,” she said aloud as several flasks of lyrium slid against her fingers. Even with one of them eagerly taken and a feeble attempt to push back the pain in her arm she could barely push forward, squinting into the snow. Even with Dorian’s foresight she was staggering and several times she nearly fell face first into the snow.

Everything was painful. Every breath she took ripped through her spine and she knew she’d cracked a rib at least. Every movement sent spears of agony through her shoulder and her arm. Every beat of her heart had fingers of pain clawing at the Anchor and the arm it was attached to.

But she had to keep moving.

She needed to get back to the Inquisition.

To Cassandra and Vivienne and Sera and Bull and Josephine and Dorian… and Cullen… she needed to get back to everyone that had supported her and believed in her and pushed her forward when she staggered. She was starting to see, body soaked and shivering, what it all had meant. She was starting to understand the sacrifices she’d had to make. She had lost so many at the Conclave, everyone she had known and loved, but so had the people that now called themselves her followers… her Inquisition.

“I’m coming…” she breathed, forcing herself to keep walking through pure desperation. “I’m coming… everyone please hold on…” she grit her teeth and pushed her body forward.

_I am coming for you. I won’t leave you._

_I know what I have to do now._

 

* * *

 

He made his rounds, trying to ignore the cold of the snow seeping into his pants. It had been nearly a full day but he couldn’t help looking up and around them, couldn’t help how his eyes sought out the edges of the mountains eagerly as if she might appear miraculously from the snow. He thought, and perhaps it was a trick of the fire light, that he saw a figure appear around the bend of rock and ice that formed the hull of their cavern.

 _Arielle?_  
  
He started up the slope, seeing the figure more clearly as it neared the lip of the valley.  
  
“SHE’S ALIVE!” He nearly slid back down the slope on his climb to get to her, seeing her fall to her knees. His voice had nearly broken around the words, throat dry and tight with fear and joy. He could hear the others behind him but he paid them no mind as he reached her and pulled her frigid body against his chest, sweeping his cloak around her as he caught her head in his hands and pressed his palms to her chilled face.  
  
“Maker…” he swore as he met her eyes and let her reach her hand up to touch her thumb to the scar on his lip. One day he would tell her. “You’ve come back to us.” For now he was satisfied with her return. He kissed her brow, letting her fingers curl into the furs at his shoulders before she slumped into him. “Get the medics ready!” He pulled her half-frozen body into his arms and exchanged a dark look with Cassandra.

Even if she was back, it didn’t mean an end to anything.

Only the beginning of something worse.

 

* * *

 

She could hear them arguing above her consciousness, stretched out and bandaged beneath her tunic and pants. She pried her eyes open, feeling the warmth in her hands and feet again, and none of the side effects of the Anchor. She could remember, briefly, explaining everything to them as best she could under Solas and Dorian’s influences and gentle coaxing… and it had obviously only divided her friends. Parties were forming and fear was taking their hearts.

Mother Giselle, as whole and as pure as her heart was, united them. 

And Solas, in his infinite wisdom, guided her. 

However, in the end, she was still left with her thoughts inside her borrowed tent. She knew they would leave the next morning, and that she would lead them as best she could… but quiet was what she sought and quiet was what she had until Cassandra passed through the tent flaps.  
  
“Herald,” she said softly and Arielle could tell she was looking over her wounds. “Are you...?”  
  
“I’m good to go,” Arielle offered a smile. “A little tired, a little battered, but we deal with that.”  
  
“You make too many jokes,” Cassandra sighed as she sat beside her.  
  
“How are you?”  
  
“A little tired, a little battered.”  
  
“Very funny.”  
  
“I thought, for a moment, that you might not return,” Cassandra admitted.  
  
“Oh? How unlike you to be pessimistic.” Arielle weakly lifted a hand to fend off a threatened punch.  
  
“I… was simply trying to say that I should not have... underestimated you.”  
  
“It’s alright,” she leaned on her knight, closing her eyes. “I forgive you.”  
  
“I was not asking your forgiveness.”  
  
“I know. I forgive you.” For a long moment they listened to the snow fall. All Arielle could hear or feel was her own heartbeat, her own breathing. She could smell the faint scent of armor polish and leather treatment and the Nevarran perfume Cassandra loved, as little as she wanted to admit it, still clinging to the Seeker despite the battles. Arielle thought Cassandra wouldn’t move, but when she lifted her hand and placed her palm to Arielle’s face affectionately the Herald couldn't stop the tears that burned in her eyes.

_I made it back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time is lots of cutesies and the beginning of the first major arc in this here series. See you next time <3


	6. And husband nature's riches from expense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sickening sweetness and disgusting intimacy ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intimacy is probably the hardest thing for me to write, so forgive me if this chapter is not on par with the others. 
> 
> [Art for this chapter! (and several others).](http://sketchingsparrow.tumblr.com/post/109593404439/sketch-commissons-for-jocunditea)

Faith had a hand in their approach, and her own faith grew when she laid eyes on Skyhold. She could hear the cheers from the Inquisition as they flooded through the gates. She stood, rooted before the mighty gates, and looked up at the ancient stones, reaching her fingers out to touch them and feel the history in the bones of the structure.  
  
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Cullen stopped beside her and she looked to him. “It’ll take some time to fix it up but…” Her chest warmed at the affection in his honeyed eyes and she reached out to touch his face. “Not… here…” he caught her fingers and lowered them as refugees filtered around them.  
  
“I’m glad you were able to lead everyone out safely,” she told him. His face flickered with emotions she rarely saw from him, anger and fear and pain painted across his features and a grimace pulled at his lip.  
  
“You could have…”  
  
“Cullen.”  
  
“I will not have a repeat of Haven,” he swore darkly. “You will not do that to me again.” His hand caught her waist and again, again, she let her eyes flicker down to his lips and felt her breath tight in her chest. He _had_ said not here but it seemed he wanted to disregard that. She pressed her hand to his cheek, raising onto her toes.  
  
“Well aren’t you two comfortable?” Dorian folded his arms and they turned to see her companions had gathered on the bridge beyond them. “We have work to do, you know?”  
  
“One day, Dorian,” Cullen threatened and Arielle laughed away the tension, letting his hand release her.

 

* * *

 

Inquisitor. Well that was certainly a new and unexpected title and she bore it with vigor as they charged forth from Skyhold. They were headed to the Fallow Mire to rescue soldiers there, honestly something warm after all the torturous cold didn’t bother her and the flames she summoned to take care of the undead burnt all the brighter.

She let herself slip into daydreams on their travels, pulling up the flicker of grin on Cullen’s face as she took the sword and the pride in his voice as he announced her as Inquisitor… and the way he had only eyes for her, the only unmoving body in the crowd.

“You’re thinking about him again aren’t you?” Dorian waved a hand in front of her glassy eyes.  
  
“Sickening,” Cassandra dismissed. “She looks like a lovesick puppy. We have more important things to be worried about.”  
  
“Come now you’re just as invested in the will-they/won’t-they.”  
  
“They might’ve if you didn’t interrupt all the friggin’ time,” Sera told him.  
  
“You wound me,” Dorian feigned insult. “It’s only a series of unfortunate mishaps that led to my interruptions.”  
  
“Yes. Forgot your kettle,” Arielle joined and her companions seemed to notice she was listening.

“Remember that, do you?” Dorian said sheepishly.   
  
“So you’re all already talking about something that isn’t even happening?” She asked.  
  
“Well I… I mean we all know how you look at each other.” Dorian protested.  
  
“Though it’s not really proper for the Commander of the standing forces to be… with the Inquisitor.” Cassandra said stiffly.  
  
“You act like you care but you don’,” Sera told her. “She’s got twenty quid on--”  
  
“Quid?” Arielle narrowed an eye, suspicious again. “You all are betting on us?”  
  
“Certainly not! Abhorrent idea! Completely inscrutable!”   
  
“Maker help us,” Cassandra sighed and walked away to the edge of the camp.

So they were betting, were they? Well she would give them something to bet on.

 

* * *

 

Skyhold was a vision to return to and she sighed happily even through the requisitions and forms she filled out under Josephine's careful watch. It had been a long week and these hours spent doing nothing were pleasant compared to wandering around in a stinking bog.

When Josephine expressed her loneliness she couldn't help but agree to talk, walking with her.

She liked Josephine, wishing she spent more time with the ambassador, and easily spent hours talking to her out on the balcony of her quarters, away from prying ears.

"So tell me? Commander Cullen? What do you think of him?" She tried to ask Josephine's opinion slyly but the snort of a laugh from the usually reserved young woman made her cheeks flush ever so slightly.

"Commander Cullen is a capable, honorable man. I wouldn't have anyone else in charge of our standing army... But sometimes he does seem the man with the hammer to whom everything appears a nail." She said blatantly. "He's charming in his own way, isn't he?"

"He's..."

"You don't have to lie, I promise it's the worst kept secret in the Inquisition. _Everyone_ is wondering when it will happen."

"Yes, I'm aware there's a betting pool," Arielle scoffed.

"How are your wounds?" Josephine changed the subject sheepishly.

"I'm... recovering..." She shrugged a shoulder.

"You've been on the move since we arrived, perhaps you should take a break? Some rest might help you heal faster." Josephine said with concern on her pretty face.

"Yes... I might do that for a few days." She sighed and leaned on the railing. "This was good, Josie, thank you."

"It was nice, wasn't it?"

"We could have a sleep over and talk about spoiled nobility and braid each other's hair," Arielle said with all seriousness.

"If you're bringing the booze, perhaps I might agree," Josephine's grin was more playful and sly than Arielle had expected.

"It's a date.” She snickered.

Maybe she was right, blowing off some steam wouldn’t be a bad idea.

 

* * *

 

“So tell me something?” Dorian leaned forward and Cullen arched an eyebrow. “How are you?”  
  
“You make it seem so serious,” Cullen relaxed and leaned back in his chair, smiling.   
  
“Your health is a serious issue, Commander,” Dorian replied and Cullen barked a laugh.  
  
“I suppose it is, isn’t it? I’m well.”  
  
“You took a hit when we left Haven didn’t you?” Dorian arched an eyebrow and Cullen sighed, running his hand over his shoulder.   
  
“It wasn’t bad, a flesh wound,” Cullen moved his next piece and watched his friend lace his fingers together, leaning on his hands.  
  
“It was an arrow, those don’t leave flesh wounds.”

He shrugged his shoulder and pressed his hand to where the wound was hidden beneath his armor. “It was through and through… I’ve had worse I assure you.”

He remembered taking the hit only barely, hacking off the length on his way to the Chantry. Hardly anyone had noticed until they’d reached the mountain pass, even he had barely noticed the pain, concerned as he was about getting their refugees to safety.

“Your beefy bicep probably took the hit without flinching. I bet you look good with arrows sticking out of you.” Dorian told him. 

“I am fairly certain it was my deltoid,” he answered, moving his next turn.  
  
“Fancy words now, huh?”  
  
“The medic told me,” he shifted his weight and leaned forward. “Why are you asking me so many questions today, Dorian?”  
  
“Why haven’t you kissed her yet?” He arched an eyebrow and Cullen pursed his lips. He didn’t like being pushed around, having things demanded of him.   
  
“There are a lot of… things she doesn’t know…”  
  
“Do you think that matters? She doesn’t need to know everything about you to know she cares for you.” Dorian chided and Cullen sighed.   
  
“Why do you want it so badly?”  
  
“Because I like you and I like Arielle and I think you both have a chance for something good in this hellish nightmare,” he slid his piece into place, sitting back in his chair. “Cullen… nothing you do or say will change her mind about you.”  
  
“You’re wrong I--”  
  
“What’re you boys up to? Playing nice?”

“Inquisitor!” His heart leapt high into his chest when she arrived and he nearly jolted out of his seat, to Dorian’s apparent amusement.  
  
Her offer to stay and play alternately put him at ease and on edge, even with Dorian’s playful jest. It had been quite a while since they had simply sat and talked. She asked about his family, about his life, and in return…  
  
“You always speak of your grandfather,” he questioned and her fingers stilled over a knight on the table.  
  
“Yes… he was a Knight-Commander, not unlike you,” he watched her face closely, interested.  
  
“Was he? At the Ostwick Circle?”  
  
“Yes, when I was a little girl,” she nodded. “My grandmother tended the lands and took care of the fortunes. She had trained to be a Sister but she met my grandfather and fell in love.” She laughed. “Fortunate, I suppose, that they were both wealthy.”  
  
“Yes that is a plus,” his heart sank ever so slightly. He often forgot she was nobility, that she was titled in Ostwick. Ostwick’s Circle was more relaxed than Kirkwall had been and while in Ferelden she wouldn’t have been able to hold a title…

“Cullen?” He didn’t like the concern on her face, forcing a slight smile onto his lips.  
  
“I’m sorry is it my turn?” He moved his piece, not wholly shocked when her hand caught his fingers.  
  
“Could we… go somewhere else? Speak in private?”  
  
There was an earnest in her voice that compelled him to agree, that led them up to the battlements in the chill of the evening air. He liked walking beside her, watching her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear only to have the slight curl unfold once more.  
  
When she spoke finally it broke his heart. When she told him how she felt, how much she cared for him… when the words he feared most fell off her lips…  
  
“Could you… feel the same way about me even though I’m a Mage?”  
  
Even though. As if he could love her despite the fact that she was a mage. In defiance of her existence, of her power, of the core of her humanity.

She wanted to know if he could love her, Mage status notwithstanding… as if he could ever separate that fact from what made her who she was.

No. He couldn’t love her _even though_ she was a Mage. Perhaps once he would have told her no, once he would have told her that she could mean nothing to him. The man he once was would never have given her the chance to get so close to him.

The man he was adored her wholly. He cherished every part of her. He trusted her as he had never before trusted a Mage… or another person. She leaned back back against the wall, letting him tower, letting him frame her in his arms as her hands gripped his cowl.   
  
“Commander Cullen!” He straightened up, finally at the end of his rope. “I brought the…” The scout looked up and glanced between them.

 

* * *

 

She had never seen Cullen quite so angry as she stood behind him, watching him stare down the poor scout until he scampered away. He seemed almost murderous and it made her smile as he turned.  
  
“Haven’t you--” He gripped her waist, fingers pulling her jaw, and kissed her so firmly on the mouth she thought she could see stars. He held her there, even as she relaxed into his touch and wound her fingers into his hair, arm sliding in around her waist so tightly she could feel his plate through the fabric of her tunic.  
  
“How long have you wanted to do that?” She whispered when they broke apart, so close she could see the ring of gold around his blown pupils, so close she could still hear the sound of his heartbeat in her ears.  
  
“Longer than I care to admit.” Ah the wicked smile, the cut of the scar on his lip, the ever so soft brush of their noses as he leaned to kiss her again. She nearly swayed, desperate to remove his plate, to get her hands on his skin as his teeth scraped against her bottom lip and sent spines of delight through her belly.

“We could take this somewhere else. Not on a battlement.”  
  
“Don’t you have somewhere to go? I’m sure the Inquisitor’s job is never over,” his voice was rough against her senses and she nearly let her eyes close.   
  
“The Inquisitor has to take a break every once in a while,” she gasped at the slide of his foot between hers, more forceful than she had expected but no less delightful. “My quarters, Commander.”  
  
“Let me take care of a few things, then I’m yours.” Oh how his kisses made her skin burn.  
  
“I’ll be waiting,” she purred.

 

* * *

 

He avoided most people vying for his attention, making his way quietly up the hallowed throne room. There were scaffolds on either side of him but the stained glass behind the throne still stood, muted in the moonlight. He had sustained himself all afternoon with the thought of Arielle and their kiss on the battlements, the way she’d responded so fluidly to him, the taste of her mouth and the velvet of her tongue.  
  
Needless to say it had been a bit of a challenge to focus on his work and he was nearly singing on his way up the stairs.  
  
“Maker…” his breath left his body in a rush when he opened the door and his heart weakened beneath his sternum.   
  
She had fallen asleep at her desk in her housecoat, long hair spilling over her shoulders. The fluttering of the curtains from her balcony door told him she’d been asleep since the air had been fairer and he walked over to close it. There were papers held beneath her arms, a glittering letter opener with the Trevelyan seal on it just out of reach of her fingers, and a beautiful teacup he knew must have been a gift from Dorian. He could see the bruises from her fall still clinging to her shoulder like fingers of fall leaves, all brown and yellow against pale skin beneath the soft grey cotton.

He lifted her, ever so carefully, and carried her to her bed. He wasn’t expecting her to stir, to lift her hand and touch his hair with cool fingers.  
  
“Cullen…” she whispered and he smiled when she caught his hand. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s alright, you were tired,” he tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, setting her down and sitting beside her even as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into her embrace, fingers coiling into his hair as she kissed him sweetly.

“Stay the night?” She kissed him again.

“You’re in no condition to--” he was persuaded when she touched her lips to his scar, falling prey to her mouth and tongue again. “Maker’s breath you are a good kisser,” heat coiled low in his belly as her nimble hands worked at his shirt, pulling it away from his shoulders. He slipped his hand beneath the fabric of her housecoat, letting the other gather the long strands of her hair in pools of gold that could bring the envy of a dwarf.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted someone like this, the last time he’d felt smooth skin under his hand or let someone’s kisses trail over his pulse. She was addicting, every touch of her fingers left a trail of fire behind and left him desperate. 

“What’s this?” She ran her fingers over the fresh scar on his shoulder, leaning to touch her mouth to it. “It’s new.”  
  
“Haven,” he answered. She was a vision in the firelight, nothing less than expected, with her hair tousled and the fabric of her robes pooled around her arms and hips and the soft silk of her nightgown rumpled against the thigh his hand still rested on. “What’s this?” He touched the scar on her forehead and watched her close her eyes.  
  
“A spell backfired,” she let him kiss it. “That… isn’t entirely true.”  
  
“Lying already?” He chuckled and felt her sigh.  
  
“It’s just the automatic response… my Harrowing was a hard one,” she shrugged her shoulder and his blood ran cold. “Remember that whole… I don’t like it when Templars get too close?” She pulled her hand from him and touched the mark. “I sat up just as they were going to kill me… got quite the blade to the head.” Her smile was bitter.  
  
“I’m sorry…” her words made him wonder if they had made the call too early before… if…  
  
“Stop,” he leaned into her hand that reached out to cradle his face. “I know what you’re doing.”  
  
“Thinking too hard,” he smiled despite himself, kissing her palm.  
  
“They were doing their job.”  
  
He had a sense of relief beneath her fingers tracing a long scar on his chest and the warmth of her lips on his shoulder, relief that she could say something so easily.

 

* * *

 

She had grown used to the weight of his hand on her leg, the rough scrape of his beard on her skin as he kissed the angles of her collarbone and the hollow of her throat. A heat rose and fell beneath her skin, comfortable with simply being beside him and listening to him answer questions. His free hand slid over her shoulder and lifted the hand with the Anchor to his mouth so he could kiss each knuckle and the palm of her hand and her wrist.  
  
For this moment, here in the warmth of her new quarters, she was content to let him kiss her into submission. There was no rush, as she had thought, only a comfortable quiet with snow and hearth as their backdrop.   
  
She laughed, sliding out of her housecoat, when he pulled her closer and they tumbled down onto the soft down of her bed. He was, in her opinion, far better than any dream. A human, a mortal, was better than any creature in the Fade or beyond. Some Mages lost themselves in their studies, others, like Vivienne, were happy to stand above and beside their fellows, but she… Arielle preferred the company of people.

She preferred the sound of his laughter, the feeling of his waist between her legs as she sat atop him, hands sliding over the thick muscle of his abdomen, and she preferred the way his face softened just before she kissed him… she would rather see how he closed his eyes ever so slightly as her lips neared, as if he was surrendering to her, than any spirit of the Fade.

“Arielle,” she felt his voice before she heard it, quaking her heart with her chest pressed against his and his rough hand tangled in her hair and laced against her scalp.  
  
“Yes, Cullen?” She lingered over his mouth, watching his face.

I trust you. He had said that once, in such a way that she never could have questioned its veracity. And now, with his throat exposed and his eyes closed and one hand curled against her hip, he proved it without question.

“You have made me feel... whole again. Your strength is so much more than even you know and it inspires everyone you come in contact with,” his eyes opened and she touched the side of his face, thumb sliding over his scar.  
  
“I cannot be more than I am, Cullen. I’m just a woman. All that strength is already inside you.”  
  
“Before you appeared from the Fade… I didn’t know that I could…” his words failed him and she kissed his brow, releasing a breath as his free hand slid up each peak and valley of her ribcage.   
  
“All that is your doing,” she reassured. “You have never had to rely on someone else’s strength, it’s always been there.”  
  
He held her still and searched her eyes, wanted for meaning. His quiet meant he was thinking, considering her words.  
  
“You have so much faith in me.”  
  
“It is not misplaced.”  
  
His laughter took her by surprise but it calmed her heart and stilled her hands, gentle as it was.   
  
“Thank you,” the joy in his voice made her heart flutter.

“Any time,” his mouth on hers and the warmth of his skin subdued her racing pulse.

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we'll get to more fun stuff and maybe some actual porn... I just felt these two deserved a break to just talk quietly and intimately... see you tomorrow probably <3
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://jocunditea.co.vu/)**  
>  I post tidbits there from time to time while I'm writing and I love answering questions! Hit me up if you're curious!
> 
> I'm also tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!


	7. They are the lords and owners of their faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery deepens. Also wow Cullen has a shitty life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a mess. Forgive it. 
> 
> Some of you have asked for a picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**  
>  so here it is!
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!

She woke to the warmth of skin against hers, legs knotted, and an arm beneath her pillow. She smiled at the sight of him, deep in sleep and so close she could kiss him, and lifted her hand to tousle his hair.  
  
“Curly,” she finally made the connection, unwinding her legs from his.  
  
“Hmm?” He rumbled a waking noise, hand sliding up her waist. “Elle?”  
  
“Good morning,” the sleepy grin that spilled, unguarded, onto his face had her heart skipping.  
  
“It is, indeed, a good morning.”  
  
She laughed, smoothing her hands against his hair. “You know I was entirely unaware that you had such curly hair.”  
  
“It escapes my control when beautiful women run their hands through it,” he answered.  
  
“Oh does it?” She roughed his hair on purpose, enjoying the easy laugh and the rough scrape of his beard on her shoulder as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck to escape her.  
  
“That’s going to take hours to prepare now… Varric will never let me hear the end of it…” he said against her skin and sent shivers down her spine.  
  
“Then I guess you’ll just have to stay in here all day,” she closed her eyes against the soft kisses he left on her shoulder. She wanted to squeeze her legs shut and clamp her thighs down against the pull deep in her body but he’d already slipped his leg between hers.  
  
“I suppose I will,” his voice was a growl again, rough from sleep and the early morning haze of lust, and she couldn’t help but bite her bottom lip against the coiling in her belly.  
  
Early in the morning was the time for sex unencumbered by the fears the shadows brought. The unintended twitch of her hips when his mouth found the crown of her breast gave way to her line of thinking and she heard him huff another rough laugh. She had wanted him the night before but intimacy had been on the schedule, an intimacy she had nonetheless enjoyed, but what she wanted now was purely primal.  
  
She gave herself over to his hands finally peeling away her nightgown and his fingers sliding up the slope of her waist and over the curve of her hip... and down against the soft skin of her inner thigh.  
  
“Inquisitor,” her eyes opened wide and utter disappointment clutched her chest. “Lady Josephine sent me to inform you that you have business to attend to.” She sat up ever so slightly to look over at the door. The messenger was a young Elven maid and she seemed to be trying very hard not to look their direction.  
  
“Thank you, Eira,” she felt Cullen press his face into her diaphragm, slipping her hand into his hair.  
  
“She also said that if you saw Commander Cullen that he’s needed in the War Room,” Arielle caught her peering, turning a little more with one arm holding the sheets over her breast.  
  
“Thank you, Eira,” she said again, smile slowly growing.  
  
“Yes ma’am,” she seemed in awe for a moment.  
  
“You’re excused…?”  
  
“Oh yes ma’am!” She turned and vanished through the door in a hurry only an elf could manage.  
  
“There goes your reputation. Respectable former Templar is seduced by the Mage Inquisitor, Apostate extraordinaire.” She looked down at him and found his honeyed eyes blown.  
  
“You have... the most magnificent breasts.”  
  
“I suppose it’s always best to look on the bright side.”

“One day I’m going to be in your presence without pants on. And I mean that in the most seductive way possible.”  
  
“I look forward to it,” she almost couldn’t keep a straight face before he kissed her again, letting him wrap his arms around her. For this moment she wanted to relish the joy and laughter he brought her, so when the dark times came she had something to cling to with all her might.

 

* * *

 

  

“Well, well,” he heard Varric before he saw him, looking up at the dwarf. "Heard you had quite the night last night."

"Did I?" He could still feel her light touches and her nails on his scalp, smoothing his hair down.

"I looked into what you asked about, no Leliana involvement," Cullen rose and walked to shut the door.

"What did you hear?"

"Anxious aren't you? I liked it better when you were smiling." Varric folded his arms. "She's in Orlais now."

"And did Hawke tell you that?" Cullen eyed him.

"Listen Hawke has eyes everywhere. She's told me what she knows and Fenris is on the job." 

Cullen felt slightly more at ease, rubbing the crook of his shoulder. "So he's keeping tabs?"

"And reporting back, don't you think we know how to run an operation?"

"Andy is more likely to punch a diplomat in the face than bargain with them." Cullen reasoned, offering a sardonic gesture.

"Hey Hawke has more patience than you do. She's been in hiding from your damned Inquisition."

" _Our_ Inquisition, Varric. And I'm sure she's been just fine with Fenris and her sister, cozy and safe."

"Her sister's safely out of the country. Protected."

"I'm surprised she didn't send Fenris," Cullen sighed.

"She sent her best to do _your_ job."

"And the brother? What of him?"

"I don't know much yet, but I do know something you won't like," Varric was watching him and Cullen steeled his nerves, turning to look out the window.

"I was afraid of that..." He caught the windowsill and sighed. Now he had the information... what was he planning to do with it? "No Circles left standing. Most Templars turned into red lyrium beasts. Pockets of resistance must still exist."

"You're hoping? Sure have changed since I met you in Kirkwall." Varric told him and he chuckled bitterly.

"I am not the same, yet I'm not that different. Tell Hawke thank you, and tell Fenris the same."

"Tell her yourself," Varric dismissed and Cullen lifted his head.

"Are you saying… oh Varric… "

"Andraste's _tits_... don't you dare tell Cassandra," he warned.

"I'm not going to tell Cassandra anything," he told him. "Don't fret yourself."

"I _don't_ fret," Varric defended.

Cullen was almost glad to see him leave, accepting the offer for drinks later, finally able to tend to his thoughts and paperwork.

He had found what he was looking for... but he wasn't sure he liked what he'd found.

"You know you could have chosen a better location for your office," he looked up when Arielle entered. “Everyone has to come through here.”

"Inquisitor," he stood and she smiled.

"You know I think once you've seen my breasts it's safe to say you can call me Arielle. Or Elle, if you're feeling comfortable, sitting on top of your half naked body kind of comfortable."

"You're going to make me blush if you're not careful," he rustled the papers in his hand importantly and tried to ignore her playful gaze.

"People are already talking."

"Funny how that happens."

"Does it bother you?" She approached and and lowered his paper shield.

"I would prefer my... _our_... private affairs remain that way but... it would be most unfortunate if there was nothing here to talk about," he let his hand fall to her hip and accepted her kiss.

"I'm heading out today," she said and his heart sank. In the War Room the day before she'd said she was taking a break and recuperating after the hell that was Haven.

"Where?"

"Dorian..."

"His parents... yes I remember he said something about it..." Cullen's lips parted in understanding. "It feels like there might be a but?" 

"There's always a but," she shrugged a shoulder. "I'm heading to Val Ro after."

"What for?"

"Personal stuff for Josephine."

"Have you heard anything about The Winter Palace?"

"Josie is close to getting an invitation but we're still not there yet. I'm going to glad hand a few people and act as honorary Inquisition errand girl and hope we wrangle an invitation. If you could send a few Templars to help an Orlaisian Viscount my glorified errands might be lessened." 

"Using your pull with the standing army now?"

"I'm your boss," she pat his cheek.

"Don't patronize me fair temptress," he slipped easily into banter, grinning at the proud arch of her eyebrow and the way she pulled him down by his plate.  
  
“Then don’t question my orders, Commander.”  
  
“You’re very sexy when you’re serious,” he relished the playful nip to his top lip and her soft laugh.

Watching her leave, again, his heart wasn’t as weighted as it usually was.

 

* * *

 

 

He hadn’t expected her to notice him, much less the small blade pressed to his throat. And he certainly didn’t expect her to invite him ever so politely to tea and sit him down at a table served by a sweet-looking young woman.  
  
She was a beauty, not unlike the sister he had glimpsed only briefly upon leaving Hawke at Skyhold, but in a wholly different way. Her hair was chestnut, hanging in gentle ringlets, her eyes the lightest shade of lavender he’d ever seen, so light it was nearly gray, and the noble set to her face was sharp and intelligent with the high cheekbones and tapered nose. There was a scar just at her chin, small and old, but it added to her character as she tilted her face up from her tea, a good-natured smile on her face.  
  
“So? What have you brought me here for?” He asked finally, touching the lip of his cup.  
  
“You can drink it, it’s not poisoned,” she set her cup down.  
  
“You brought me in here without a word and set me down… how long have you known?”  
  
“Since the beginning. Did my sister send you?”  
  
“No, she doesn’t know I’m here,” he answered truthfully. “I was sent by someone else to keep an eye on you.”  
  
“Oh… well isn’t that interesting?” She smiled.  
  
“What are you planning to do with me, Lady Lisette?”  
  
“Well… considering the rumors have my sister as anything from the Herald of Andraste to a supernatural being that devoured the Divine… I suppose I’m planning to ask what the truth is.”  
  
Fenris smiled acquiescently, drumming his fingers on the table, “To what end?”  
  
“She’s my _sister_ , Elf.”  
  
“Fenris,” his lip curled. “I have a name.”  
  
“Well from how you creep in the shadows and vanish into smoke I thought you might simply prefer _creep_.”  
  
“Fair,” he sighed. “She’s safe, for now.”  
  
“Safe? You expect me to accept _safe_?”  
  
Fenris pursed his lips. Why was it always _he_ who had to take care of upset siblings? Leandra _owed_ him.

  

* * *

 

  

They had only been back a few hours before Bull had been dragged into a sparring match with the Chargers, and it was only a matter of time before Cassandra joined to try and break it up. 

She _supposedly_ wanted to stop them but the sparring matches always took a turn for the theatrical between her and Bull, her only _worthy_ adversary. Though he _did_ always lose.

Arielle howled with laughter with the others when Bull hit the ground, hard, again unable to block the swift jabs of the Seeker. Cullen, just across the ring from her, watched her with molten eyes.

"Isn't there anyone who can challenge me?!" Cassandra lifted her hands to cheers of _Cullen_ and _Dorian_.

"One of the Mages!" A Templar hollered and the mages around him laughed, Arielle with them.

"The Inquisitor!" Sera shouted over the rest.

Arielle looked around when she heard her title, sitting on the railing with Josephine at her side and Dorian leaning his chin on his arms on the fence. She knew she could say no, that no one would blame her, so she waved her hand at them to a few playful jeers.

"Oh please, I could take the Inquisitor! Give me a challenge!"

"Oh really?" Arielle felt the fire of pride burn in her chest and she dropped into the ring, adjusting her bracers.

" _Inquisitor_!" She couldn't help but laugh as Cullen cheered with the others, slinking her shoulders out of her battlemage robes with Dorian’s help. She rolled her neck, down to her tunic.

“Seems I’ve been voted to make you eat your words.”

"Please. You are all talk and fancy spells. Without them you're defenseless," Cassandra knew better, but for the show she played along.

"Am I?" Arielle shook her ponytail haughtily. "I’ll show you why Mages are _feared_ , Seeker.”

“No magic, Inquisitor,” the Seeker cracked her knuckles and Arielle’s lip curled.  
  
“Worried you might be outmatched?” Arielle cocked a hip, mist dissipating around her fingers.  
  
“It is you who is outmatched,” they circled like cats, eyes taking in every shift of the other’s body.

"You going to keep talking or are you going to put your money where your mouth is?"

"Oh bring it on," Cassandra grinned and Arielle struck. Once, twice, taking a hook from Cassandra with her elbow in a speedy block. Cassandra was faster than the Bull but slower than the Mage and Arielle could anticipate the heavy hits.  
  
“Cassandra!!” Josephine cheered and Arielle cast a glance at her.  
  
“ _Really Josephine_!?”  
  
“Look out!” Cullen cried and Arielle ducked low, striking Cassandra’s diaphragm and staggering her only slightly before she tumbled out of the way and jumped back to her feet.

“Low blow!” Cassandra struck again only to find that Arielle had moved. “Inquisitor!”  
  
“Yes?” Arielle caught an arm around her neck from behind but Cassandra leant forward and lifted her off her feet, throwing her over her back. “Holy shit!” She landed hard, stars in her eyes, but staggered to get back up from the dirt amidst the cheers.  
  
“Don’t break our Inquisitor, Seeker!” Dorian told her, still looking amused.

“She won’t break me,” Arielle dashed, striking hard against Cassandra’s defenses. “With magic I’d have you outmatched.”  
  
“Even with magic I could put you in your place,” Cassandra caught her fist and jerked her wrist, nearly hitting her face but Arielle returned the favor. They were deadlocked, though Cassandra’s arm strength was obviously greater as Arielle’s feet slid in the dirt.

The buckles of her plate shone bright in the daylight, gray eyes fierce.

_“Do you know what we do to Apostates like you?”_

The beautiful wings of his helmet morphed into the mutilated infectious skull of Corypheus. 

A pang of fear shot through her blood and she panicked, shoving Cassandra back with all her weight, punching her so hard she staggered against the fence, hand to her face as Arielle regained her balance.  
  
“Inquisitor?” Cassandra’s face dropped into worry so quickly the crowd fell silent before Arielle reached down to help her up.

“I’m sorry Cassie,” she said quietly and Cassandra gripped her elbow, holding her close.  
  
“Is something wrong?” Cassandra’s voice was ever so quiet, ever so worried.

“Don’t make a scene, I panicked is all,” she said quietly. “We just got back from a war zone… did I hurt you?”

“Takes more than that to hurt me. Good hook, though,” Cassandra reassured as the crowd began to dissipate, but there was something in her look that was still concerned. “Want to get a drink?” She gripped Arielle’s shoulder to steady her.  
  
“If you’re buying.”

She saw Cullen sink back to the ground as they passed, tension released from his body, but there was still suspicion and worry lingering in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen had nearly jumped the fence, halfway over before he decided to wait it out. He’d recognized the pale gray of her face and the cold sweat that broke on her skin, but it passed as it had before, and she offered her hand to help her friend up… but he had seen it there, just beneath the surface.

He’d noticed long before she was prone to flashbacks, likely her connection to the Fade, but he hadn’t realized it would affect her even during a fight. He mounted the stairs to her quarters, steps creaking beneath his weight, worry tight in his chest. Maybe she could shake it off, maybe she could just push it away and go drinking with her friends but he… still needed to know she was alright.  
  
“Elle I--”  
  
“Oh, Cullen,” the familiarity in her voice stopped him cold. Leandra Hawke stood leant against the balcony door frame, arms folded over her armor. “We were just talking about finding a friend of mine.”  
  
“And-- _Hawke_.” He corrected as his eyes fell on Arielle, sitting in a fresh tunic and pants on her bed. 

“You can call me Andy, Cullen, we’ve fought together.” Andy said.  
  
“We’re leaving tomorrow to meet her friend,” Arielle informed and Cullen nodded.  
  
“I’ll… excuse myself,” Andy looked between them. “I’m glad you’re finally happy,” she told him ever so softly as she passed. “You deserve it.” She thumped his shoulder, taking the steps two at a time as she whistled.  
  
“I couldn’t imagine being named after my mother,” Arielle said without prompting. “Sounds like quite the burden.”  
  
“What were you talking about?” He walked over and found her face devoid of emotion.  
  
“Mothers… and how strange they can be…” she reached out and took his hand.  
  
“You panicked today,” he watched her faraway eyes come into focus on his face. “Arielle?”  
  
“Do you ever… feel like something bad is about to happen?” She asked softly.  
  
“Maybe you’ve been drinking too much of that lyrium tea?” He sat beside her, letting her tuck her body beneath his arm. “How could it possibly get any worse?”  
  
“Please don’t ask that…” She sighed. “Please.”  
  
“We can handle it. You, me, the Inquisition.” He wrapped his other arm around her and let her tuck her face into his neck, sliding her legs over his lap. “We can handle this.”  
  
“Yes… we can…” she murmured.

 _But at what cost_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is an [aside with all the different versions of the fight in this chapter.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2689052)
> 
> Thanks for joining! Next time we head to Orlais <3
> 
>  
> 
>   
> if you came for porn don't worry it'll happen soon   
> 


	8. Others, but stewards of their excellence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they consummate their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Porn ahead.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!

Watching her sleep beside him had him introspective. He liked to think he wasn’t a deep thinker, that he was a man of action and quick mind, but maybe he’d changed since he was young… no longer the brash young Templar, quick to anger and quick to blame.

Or maybe, like he’d said to Varric, he wasn’t as different as he thought.

He smoothed his hand over the bare expanse of her stomach, letting his fingertip slide against the edge of the blanket that folded over her hip and defined the shape of her leg beneath it. She'd been dreaming all night, keeping him awake, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. For her. She calmed under his touch and stilled with soft words and he could only hope that between the lyrium and the Anchor that she wasn't wandering the Fade. She'd been taking more lyrium than he cared to admit to keep herself strong, to stay at the peak of her power for the Inquisition.

She reminded him of the others he'd met before, the other women he knew who had held the weight of the world on her shoulders and wore it well. Ileana, the Warden who became Queen, who had saved him years before with her elegance and kindness... Andy, who had saved him yet again, and all her warrior might and ferocity. 

But Arielle hadn't saved him.

She hadn't swept in with staff in hand and fury in her face. 

She had appeared before him with kindness and a jest that once would have made him feel pitied. She had offered her hand to him, had given him the chance to save himself. She had believed in him, had trusted him, and never once questioned his secrets. 

_I should be taking it..._

The thought crossed his mind fleetingly, watching her eyes move beneath her lids, dreaming hard.

_I could be at my peak strength with it..._

He felt fear in his heart, the pang of lyrium withdrawal, and the desperation that often came with it.

"Cullen," she said his name in an undertone and it broke his thoughts, keeping him from dwelling. She was watching him now, eyes half lidded and blonde hair thrown across the pillows like a celestial crown. He watched her in return, watched her chest rise and fall with a stabilizing breath, reaching out a hand to let his fingers curl against the full shape of one breast, running the pad of his thumb over her nipple against her sigh. "You're like a cat." 

"Am I?" He let her arms curl around his neck gently, leaning to kiss her.

"You like to touch things that don't belong to you," she smiled against his lips.

"Oh? I was under the impression that they did."

"Still your boss."

"Not here you aren't," he let his eyes close when her lips found his throat, fingers tracing the edges of his ear.

"Your resistance is futile. As much effort as you're putting in."

"Wicked, wicked creature." He certainly _didn't_ resist when her hands found the fastens to his pants and pulled at the laces. "We're leaving for Orlais in the morning," he did try to protest. He could think of a few other reasons why the damp warmth of her mouth traveling over his chest, why the velvet of her tongue on each scar, why... He knew he'd had a thought process but her teeth on the cut of his hip derailed any hope.

 

* * *

 

She had slept off her fear and woke refreshed to Cullen's molten eyes and the ruffled mess of his hair and the calloused touch of his hand against her skin. How easy it was for him to rouse her, how quickly his devious smile made her knees weak.

"The lord doth protest too much, methinks," she heard his sigh and his acquiescence within it. "How long has it been?"

"How long?" He echoed before the realization thudded into his belly, she could almost feel it. "Oh..." 

"Cullen?"

"A while," he admitted and she touched her lips to the thin line of hair on his navel, fingers curling into his waistline. "Maker, woman do something. Don't give them the time to stop us again," he growled and it shot straight between her legs. "Waking up and playing with me like this..." 

"I'm not playing," but she knew the break in her lips gave her away because he propped himself up on his elbow and glared at her until she shifted her shoulders and pressed her mouth exactly where he wanted it, dampening the fabric enough to make him swear.

"You are the devil," he told her. "I can feel it you're actually sent here to ruin me."

She couldn't stop the grin that tore through her face at her own petulance, "I can't very well take your pants off if you're sitting on them." She tugged hard enough to make his hips budge.  
  
“Arielle…” her name rumbled in his chest and she looked to him, smile sinking. The liquid gold of his eyes had been swallowed by his pupils, slender cracks of molten metal against the endless dark, and the pulse in his throat thumped rapidly against his skin. Her mouth went dry and she had to lick her lips, moving over him to kiss him deeply.

His hand slipped into her hair, tangling into the long strands and holding her in place, as the other stroked down her hip and slid slowly into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. The urge to close her legs nearly compelled her but his hips blocked her movement, leaving her defenseless.

“You always try that,” he said and her breath caught in her throat. “Setting yourself up for failure, Inquisitor.” She bit her lip as the softest caress against her folds had her eyes shuttering, heat pooling to his touch.

 

* * *

 

He could taste lyrium on his tongue from her tea, faint and familiar, and it made his mind hazy as he looked up at her, taut as a bowstring above him. Her hands were splayed against his chest, the muscles in her thighs quivering with strain and anticipation. He steadied a hand against her hip, letting the pad of his thumb circle her clit almost lazily, so lightly he was certain that the jerk of her hips was a desperate attempt for pressure.

“Cullen you were just--”  
  
“I want to watch you unravel,” he told her, enjoying the way his words had her jerking into the touch he withdrew.  
  
“Unravel me faster or I’ll do it myself, Commander.”  
  
“Pushy, how unlike you.” He caught her off guard and pinned her, her breathless laughter bright in his ears.

She worked his pants down his hips, discarding them just in time to hook a leg over his waist, pulling his mouth to hers with one hand in his hair and a hand sliding down his stomach. It had been so long, and he might have lost himself in her then, satisfying himself for the moment by sliding a finger inside her and listening to the catch of her breath and watching the arch of her back.

"Oh you are beautiful," she was a vision beneath him, nails scraping the muscle of his shoulders lightly with the second finger and a tilt of her hips. Each stroke, each movement had him lost in her, watching the arch of her hips and the parting her lips around every sigh and moan.

He didn’t realize he was nearly panting until she gripped his wrist and tilted his hand, his fingers curling.

 _Oh_.

“ _Cullen_!” If he hadn’t been looking he wouldn’t have seen the tension break in the sharp angles of her shoulders, he wouldn’t have seen her lids flutter, or the beat of her pulse in her throat. He waited a moment, watching her unwind as her nails slid over his shoulder, but her legs were curling around his waist before he could protest and her blown eyes were on his.

As _if_ he would have protested to begin with.  
  
Her delicate fingers wrapping around him, guiding him in, her hips tilting to accommodate; sensations he burnt into his memories. He couldn’t help the half laugh that escaped him, relief and pleasure and _her_ with her legs around him and her hands in his hair and her mouth on his.

Each movement was amplified, every sensation shook him. He groaned into her skin, feeling her nails bite his shoulders. And when she pushed him over and sat astride him and rode him out until his hands blanched on her hips he didn’t stop her name on his lips that made her laugh, tossing her long blonde hair back over her shoulders. 

And later, with her legs wound with his and her arms around his neck, he thanked the Maker for the color of her eyes and the softness of her hair and the way her forehead rested against his. 

She murmured into the quiet, voice muted in her sated languor, and he kissed her dreams away, pushing her hair back from her face as she returned his kiss one last time, lingering.

 

* * *

 

 

“Well good _morning_ ,” she nearly cast a spell into the early morning light, sitting upright to find Dorian leaning against the stair rail.  
  
“Dorian if you don’t leave I’m going to hang your lifeless body over the gate as a warning,” Cullen greeted, slinging his arm over his eyes casually.  
  
“While I am _glad_ that you were voted to come up here and wake us up I--”  
  
“Au contraire: I _volunteered_.”  
  
“We’re late aren’t we?” She sighed.  
  
“Well… yes and _no_.” He looked like the cat that ate the canary.  
  
“Pavus get out or I’ll gut you.”  
  
“Lady Seeker says you have twenty minutes or you’re both--” Arielle threw a pillow at him. “Missed! Twenty minutes! Nice curls!” The door shut behind him.  
  
She sighed, flopping back onto the bed beside him to a burst of refreshing laughter and his body over hers and early morning kisses and his fingers in her hair.  
  
“Good morning,” he said softly and she curled her leg around his waist.  
  
“We have twenty minutes,” she tangled her hands into his locks.  
  
“I mean…”  
  
“Don’t even think about it,” she pushed him away, heart leaping at his laugh.  
  
“I know,” his face fell into a neutral, catching her fingers. “You can do this.”  
  
“I know. Off to save an Empire. All in a day’s work I suppose.”

  

* * *

 

 

“So they’re going to a party,” she said, turning her back to him.  
  
“You do realize that I’m going to be murdered for this by my girlfriend?” He propped an arm over the back of the chair.  
  
“I don’t care much,” Lisette mulled over her thoughts for a moment. “Can you get me into the party?”  
  
“Can’t you get in on your own?” Fenris sighed.  
  
“Certainly I could pull strings and use my family’s power to enter the Winter Palace but considering the fact that the Inquisition will have a hundred eyes and ears on every piece of paper that passes through there and I’m sure the name Trevelyan would arouse su--”  
  
“Alright, alright I see your point. I’m here to protect you, not to sneak you into a high profile event.”  
  
“That likely you shouldn’t even know about.”  
  
“Well Hawke has eyes in many places.”

“I haven’t questioned who sent you here, Fenris, don’t you think you could humor me?”  
  
“I’m not here to humor, only here to protect.” He said evenly, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“Don’t put your boots on the table,” she chided and he put his feet back down, sitting forward. “I want my sister. And you’re going to help me. Do you understand?”  
  
“What leverage do you even have?”

“If you don’t take me I’ll break in myself and I _know_ your lover wouldn’t suffer you for losing my trail.”  
  
He sighed, “No. She wouldn’t.”  
  
She smiled slyly, walking to her room. “Come, we have much to prepare.”

“Could anything else possibly go wrong?” Hawke was the least of his concerns if he lost contact with her. He _had_ only been told to follow her. No one said _anything_ about keeping her from doing something stupid. 

He didn’t think that loophole would go over well with Cullen.

  

* * *

 

 

“Where is she?” Cullen asked and Dorian shrugged.  
  
“She and Leliana and Josephine are having a party,” Cassandra said dryly. “They’ve been comparing shoes and dresses all day.”  
  
“Don’t you like dresses?” Dorian asked and Cassandra scoffed.  
  
“Of course I do, what do you take me for? I just thought it better to be able to move if trouble strikes.” She looked down. “Why?”  
  
“She looks better than us three goons,” Bull said with a laugh.  
  
“I look dashing, thank you--”  
  
“Monkey suits,” Cullen sighed, tugging at his collar.  
  
“--I do feel a bit naked without my staff, though.”  
  
“Tell me, how is the Inquisitor in bed?” Bull asked, as if to change the topic, and Dorian snorted his champagne.  
  
“I do not wish to hear this,” Cassandra walked up the stairs. “I’m going to get them.”  
  
“He’s not going to say anything. Templars don’t kiss and tell, Bull.” Dorian folded his arms over his chest.  
  
“Too bad… I’ve wondered if she’s as naughty as she seems.”  
  
“Do you two mind?”  
  
“Do you think he’s vanilla or...?” Bull continued anyway.  
  
“Oh no. All that lyrium between them? They’re dirty.”  
  
“I’m going to hang your head above my hearth, Dorian.”

Behind his head Dorian mimed biting and pointed to his shoulder, earning a laugh from The Iron Bull.  
  
“I will have you drawn and quar--” he stopped short, breath taken by the sight at the top of the stairs. She looked every bit a noble with her hair tied up and curled and her shoulders exposed above the plum velvet of her bodice. She tilted her chin up and smiled, lifting her skirts with one hand to descend towards them. Her eyes, ever so bright against the fabric he was sure Josephine had chosen, were on his even as she walked down.

“Wow…” Dorian said it first and Bull whistled. “You pull off overly fancy and uncomfortable beautifully, my dear.”  
  
“Thank you, I’m hiding all your shit,” she smashed through the illusion quickly but Cullen couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Smuggling is my favorite pass time, don’t you know?”  
  
“And you do it marvellously,” Dorian eyed her skirts, “You have staves in all that?”  
  
“I had Dagna enchant a bag and I did the rest,” she smiled. “Very handsome, Commander.”

“You are stunning,” he finally found words for her and let her adjust the medals on his chest.

“She puts everyone else to shame, doesn’t she?” Leliana followed her. “Drab, I know.” She gestured to her uniform. 

“They spent hours deciding what to put me in,” Arielle rolled her eyes for him to see and he smiled.  
  
“It’s not often we are able to dress our Inquisitor up like a doll,” Josephine followed.

“Arielle can magic that dress on and off and carry our equipment without trouble. The rest of us have to be prepared for anything.” Cassandra told them.  
  
“We all know what we’re doing?” Arielle asked.  
  
“Keeping an eye out, watching for anything suspicious,” Bull answered.  
  
“Then let’s go.” Cullen watched her leave absently, still a little in shock.  
  
 _They will be watching. All of us._

 

* * *

 

“You know if I’m caught--”  
  
“Don’t get caught,” Lisette told him, adjusting her mask over her face.  
  
“If _you_ get caught--”  
  
“I won’t get caught,” she chided.  
  
“If you get _killed_ \--”  
  
“Fenris, please,” she lifted her hand.  
  
“The Inquisition would not be approaching an event like this if it wasn’t for a serious and grievous concern... “  
  
“This _is_ serious,” she rounded on him. “Don’t you understand? Do you think I would come if it wasn’t urgent? If I could get in contact with my sister any other way? Do you think I would be here, in this forsaken place if something wasn’t terribly wrong? Tell me?” 

He saw fire in her eyes, and fear. She was no warrior, she had never seen true bloodshed, but he had no doubt there was a warrior’s blood in her.  
  
“No… I suppose you wouldn’t be,” he answered.  
  
“Good,” he watched her face sink beneath her mask and felt a pang of pity for her. He wondered how many times she had tried to contact her sister, hear from the Inquisition, how many times she had fretted and feared over what was happening and the utter _silence_ against which she beat her mightless fists?  
  
He could almost understand her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! That was fun! I'll be gone for a good part of next week since I'm going to be working my butt off for my finals but I'll try to get a new chapter or two up and I know I'll be posting a couple of short asides surrounding Hawke and Fenris, The Warden and Alistair, and how they may all come into play later.
> 
> Hit me up! See y'all next time! <3


	9. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lives have many paths. Lies and deceit often have consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is a long, emotional roller coaster of a chapter. Be prepared.
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!

Lisette dusted her skirts off, turning to look to her guardian. “How much trouble will you be in if I get caught?”  
  
“I’ll be scolded, heavily, but probably not much if you’re discovered by the right people,” Fenris answered.  
  
“Who are the right people?”  
  
“Your sister. Your sister is the right person to be found by, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t. Being scolded by Hawke is like being flogged by a hurlock.”  
  
“You have done me a great kindness to let me come see her,” she told him. “I will try not to be caught.”  
  
“I’ll wait here, come find me when you’re ready to leave.” He pulled his hood over his head and shrank into the shadows.

 

* * *

 

She found Cullen where she’d left him: standing beside a cluster of masked nobles who were making advancements with varying degrees of seriousness. She wanted, if it wouldn’t have caused a scandal, to kiss him right there and stake her claim. Instead she was satisfied with the sour look on his face and the surly way with which he responded to requests.  
  
“Quite the scene you made,” he said softly, brightening when she chuckled.

“Well someone has to be fashionably late to the party.”  
  
“You’ve got their attention, at least.”  
  
“Yes it would seem that way wouldn’t it?” She liked the way his eyes raked up her body, taking in the way the fabric of her gown clung to the flat curves of her body as no battlemage robe could. “Like what you see?”  
  
“Very much.”  
  
“Care to see more?” She could almost feel the desire in his eyes.  
  
“We’re at a party surrounded by Orlaisean nobility.”  
  
“Best place to slip away,” she said softly.  
  
“Your words are poison,” he murmured. “And now I’m going to be standing here thinking about you all night.”  
  
“You should be thinking about me anyway.”  
  
“Don’t tempt me.”  
  
“By the way who are all these people?”  
  
“I… don’t know but they won’t leave me _alone_.”  
  
“Please, be more grumpy, that might work.”  
  
“You’re being unfair. This man has tried to grab my butt three times tonight,” he told her.  
  
“I’ll grab your ass later to make up for it,” she beamed at the tongue-tied expression on his face. “Business to do. Don’t behead anyone while I’m gone.”  
  
“I’ll… certainly try.”

  

* * *

 

 

Her sister had grown. Lisette had expected that. People _did_ tend to grow up… but somehow she had still expected the slender and awkward girl that had left the manor with tears in her eyes and Templars at her side.

She watched her from behind her fan, dancing and circling the room to speak with each of her uniformed escorts. She wondered what they were talking about, what secrets they shared… if they had ever heard of her.

She had received a letter from the Inquisition for the family’s support and she had accepted, eagerly, but Arielle had never responded. She’d thought, for all the grandeur, that she’d at least receive a thank you… but nothing ever came.

Her sister’s letters had been infrequent once she’d left for the Circle and had altogether stopped in a few years. After the letter saying that their mother had died. Lisette had been left to care for their brother and their slowly fading grandfather while her father shut himself up in his study or threw himself into protecting their lands.

Everything had been different after Arielle left. She had never resented her father for what he had done, she understood where Mages were supposed to be and what they were at risk of, but now that she saw Arielle as an adult… as a leader… perhaps she felt a twinge of jealousy. 

It might have been that she thought this brightly smiling woman had been given the better end of the bargain. At least if Lisette had been at the Circle, far away from hearth and home, she wouldn’t have gone through what she had. Perhaps she wouldn’t have had to watch their grandfather slowly unravel and become someone he wasn’t. Maybe she wouldn’t have had to care for their younger brother like the mother he’d lost to illness. Maybe… just maybe she would be like _Arielle_ who appeared so free even as she gathered with her associates and spoke hurriedly.

Maybe she would have someone that looked at her the way the handsome Commander did.

She turned to leave, retreating back toward the kitchens only to be accosted by someone rushing out the doors after her.  
  
“Sorry!” She looked up into the face that steadied her, breathless. “Are you hurt? I shouldn’t have been rushing.” The face that smiled down at her made her heart weak.  
  
“No I’m fine,” she touched her sister’s elbows, holding her there in awe. “You’re…”  
  
“Yes I’m the Inquisitor…” the slightly snide look to her face said she’d been asked that all evening.

“Oh I… how wonderful…” she smiled, releasing her arms. “You are… everything they said you’d be.”  
  
She barked a laugh, “Thank you.”  
  
Lisette was left in her sister’s wake, hands shaking. She had been so close. She could have said something.

 _I’m a coward_.

 

* * *

  

He looked up when she returned, face relaxing with the removal of her mask. “You’ve been crying.”  
  
“Yes I have, thank you for noticing,” she dabbed her eyes. “She’s so beautiful.”  
  
“She is, isn’t she?” Fenris rose and walked over to her. “You didn’t speak to her?”  
  
“Oh I… yes I did actually. She ran into me on her way out the door and I… I almost blew it.” Her shoulders shook. “She… she n-never had to… I’m such a jealous… _petty_ person.”  
  
“Are you angry with her?”  
  
“Yes!” He hadn’t expected the fury to explode out of her. “Yes I’m angry! I’m angry she left! I’m angry she disappeared into Ostwick and never wrote and never spoke and never _cared._ It’s like she vanished into that ivory tower and looked down upon us, frowned upon the _normal_ humans. The _normal_ family she left behind!”  
  
He hadn’t liked Mages most of his life. He had despised them, in fact, but in the past years under Hawke’s care and her sister’s concern… he had come to see what some of them went through was torturous. Arielle was no different. To this woman, whose life had seen realities so different from those of his own or the Inquisitor’s, the life at the Circle had been easy. She saw people who were cared for night and day but missed the fact that they were not allowed to venture into the outside world, or that not all of their overlords were so kind and forgiving as her grandfather. He had seen the injustices done in Kirkwall, even if at the time he hadn’t pitied them. 

“I’m not saying your feelings aren’t justified… but maybe you _should_ talk to her. Maybe this watching from the shadows nonsense isn’t enough for you,” he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “She deserves to know how you feel and you deserve to tell her and hear her side of the story.”  
  
“Really? Do you think so?” Her features softened and he bared his teeth in irritation with himself.  
  
“Ugh I… can’t believe I’m saying this… yes alright I think you should. I think it’s good to have closure even if it’s not the closure you want. Someone once told me that… without the weight of the past you can finally begin to move forward… that being free meant being able to decide my own fate instead of fighting towards a vengeful end. I think she was right.”  
  
“You love her very much, don’t you?” He couldn’t help but echo the soft smile on his ward’s face.  
  
“Yes. I do. Leandra made me into who I am today… she wanted me to… become something more and saw that I could be more. That’s why I think you should talk to her, hear her out.”  
  
“Alright,” she nodded. “I’ll go.”  
  
“Good,” he watched her turn and leave, face sinking. Oh Andy was going to _kill_ him.

 

* * *

 

  

Lisette passed through the doors into the grand ballroom, stalling at the railing as Grand Duke Gaspard and his sister walked past on the other side. The sound of a door drew her attention and she turned to see her sister in full Mage garb with three heavily armed warriors behind her. The handsome man she’d seen Arielle speaking to rushed to her and with a few words he’d stepped aside, trust in his face but concern evident.  
  
 _What’s she up to?_

She watched with awe as her sister, as the _Inquisitor_ , descended the stairs with all her grace and glory. She held her breath with all the others as Arielle told them of Florianne’s treachery, and announced her dark intentions… and a newfound respect blossomed in her chest. She didn’t seen the child that had left their manor, she saw the woman that child had become: confident and eloquent with beauty and kindness and wit. So different from the shy girl that had hidden in Lisette’s skirts when their parents had brought their brother home.

She was left breathless, walking closer as the situation unravelled and the diplomatic way that Arielle handled the Empress, as if she were one of the Court, and how they all listened to every word.  
  
 _This is why he sent me back in here._  
  
She moved forward to speak to her, to reach out to her as she stood on the balcony alone, but someone beat her to it. The uniformed man from before approached and she saw the happiness on Arielle’s face at his presence.  
  
 _Do I have any right to interrupt her life?_  
  
Did she have the right to burst into the palace and stop the path that her sister had been on? Lisette and the rest of her family had been left behind and Arielle had moved on and made herself a new family. Was is Arielle’s fault that she had been sent away? That she had been born a Mage?  
  
No one here cared that she was a Mage, no one around her seemed to care either, and Lisette felt a pang of anger for their father who had so immediately sent her away for fear of her affecting Lisette or their brother. She had forgotten, in her fury, that Arielle bore the mark of an accursed monster to many… that the Circles existed as much to protect the Mages as the normal people around them.  
  
Lisette watched a moment longer, watching Arielle sweep into her lover’s arms in all her armor, and pushed her mask up to wipe her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Arielle had been delighted when he’d asked her to dance, slipping her hand into his. He, on the other hand, only felt nerves in his stomach.  
  
“You do know I’m still in my armor?” She said against his cheek.  
  
“Yes well sometimes we have to improvise, don’t we? You look better in armor than any of those heavily perfumed peacocks in there look in finery.”  
  
“You do know how to woo a lady,” she kissed his temple and he smiled. “You’re pretty good.”  
  
“I’m terrible don’t be nice.”  
  
“Don’t argue with me I’m your boss.”

He had been worried about her all evening, watching her flit back and forth on secret missions, and now he could relax in her grace of her arms and listen to her soft voice laugh and talk away the evening.

At least he could have if she hadn’t looked over his shoulder at exactly that moment, if the minute adjustment of a mask hadn’t caught her attention… perhaps she wouldn’t have noticed. Perhaps they could have danced cheek to cheek all night.

She slowed in her dance and caught his face in her hands. “Cullen Rutherford, would you give me a moment?”  
  
“What’s wrong?” He followed her eyes to a woman in a deep scarlet gown at the balcony doorway. “Who is that? Why did you use my whole name?” He had so many questions.  
  
“A ghost from my past…” she breathed and moved towards her. “I thought she’d seemed familiar…”

She had sworn all night that she was being watched, that someone had been at her heels, but he had passed it off as nerves in the Orlaisian court or simply spies. Every time she turned around she had said she’d seen a figure pass out of her sight… and here she was. Plain as day. The woman she had crashed into on the way out of the ballroom… if she wouldn’t have been on her way to do Morrigan’s errand would she have…?  
  
“What does that mean?” Cullen followed, baffled when the two women stood mere feet from each other. “Arielle?”  
  
“Ellie?” Her voice was a rasp around the knot in her throat.  
  
“Lisette!” He had never seen such bitter relief on her face, such utter and complete destruction of the smile and easy twinkle to her eyes. She wrapped the slight woman up in her arms and lifted her off her feet, spinning her. “Oh Lisette!”  
  
 _Sister_.  
  
He finally made the connection as Arielle’s older sister slipped her mask off and clung to the Inquisitor, tears sliding down her full cheeks. Lisette was considerably softer and smaller than the tall, lean beauty that was Arielle, but all her features were the same: the same small nose and high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes. Yes, he could see the resemblance.  
  
“You’ve grown so tall! So like mother and Gav!” Lisette was saying, clutching Arielle’s damp cheeks. “Oh Ellie… my sweet, sweet girl…” Cullen wasn’t sure how to handle sobbing women, watching Arielle wrap her arms around her sibling and stroke her back. “Ellie…” she shook her head against Arielle’s chest. “Oh my make up… Andraste’s saggy knickers…” Lisette dabbed her eyes.  
  
Arielle laughed, wiping her face with her sleeve. “We’re embarrassing Cullen.”  
  
“No, no don’t mind me,” he smiled fondly, tilting his head. He wondered if his siblings would have quite the same reaction… then again he had _chosen_ to leave. The thought of Arielle crying quietly in a carriage as she was forced to leave her home made his heart break. “Though I might join you if it carries on too long.”

He was thankful for another laugh, for the winding of her hand in his, “Lady Lisette Trevelyan. Commander Cullen Rutherford of the Inquisition.”  
  
“My Lord,” she curtsied and Arielle snickered. “What’s that?”  
  
“You’re just as polite as I remember.”  
  
“Careful or I’ll report you for Apostasy,” Lisette waggled her fan at her sister and Arielle batted it away with a grin.  
  
“He’s a former Templar, he’ll keep me from any temptations.” He pulled at his collar with her wink.  
  
“ _Former_? Questionable life choices as usual, Ellie.” He wrinkled his brow at their playful nature. “I seem to remember you wanting to go off and find a handsome Templar at the Circle and seduce him into your service.”  
  
“You think me so _wicked_.”

He knew better than to interrupt. He had sisters, they had their own way of communicating, and these two hadn’t seen each other in over a _decade_. He did wonder, though, how she had managed to get in without their knowing and just how she had avoided Fenris… _if_ she had avoided Fenris.

“Rutherford isn’t a name I know…” his heart stopped. He had discussed this with Arielle, told her he wasn’t titled outside the Inquisition… and she had said it didn’t matter… but to her family?  
  
“He’s from Ferelden,” Arielle said and her sister looked him over with a quirk of her brow, as if that had told her everything she needed to know.  
  
“Oh… well... he’s very handsome at least. Father would _hate_ him. Papa, though…”

He felt like he had just passed muster in the Chantry, releasing a breath.  
  
“Papa would adore him.” Arielle agreed. “As… much as I am excited to see you… How did you get here I… tonight was very dangerous. You could have been hurt…”  
  
“Oh yes I did hear your grand speech… at least you learned _something_ in all those lessons.”  
  
“And you learned _nothing_ ,” Arielle nudged her.  
  
“Don’t make me tell Ser Rutherford about your knobby knees and ungainly gait at that ever so tender age of eleven,” Cullen couldn’t fight the smirk.

“You’re avoiding me, Lettie,” Arielle told her. “How did you know I was here?”

Cullen felt a chill on the back of his neck, fear trickling down into his chest. He hadn’t considered that, hadn’t thought about how she’d known their plans.  
  
“Just because people bow to you and call you _Your Worship_ doesn’t mean you can boss me around,” Lisette whapped her on the nose with her fan.  
  
Arielle caught the utensil before it could retreat, face serious, “Peoples’ lives were threatened here tonight, Lisette. You could have died. You shouldn’t have been anywhere near this manor.”  
  
“Oh _now_ you tell me. After fifteen years of silence you break it because I appear before you?” Lisette asked, pulling her fan away. “Couldn’t write and tell me about this Inquisitor nonsense? About the Breach or whatever it is? Couldn’t have told me some time in the past fifteen years that you rebelled against your Circle? I could have housed you! I could have protected you! But instead you chose silence!”  
  
Ah there it was, the sisterly anger he was so accustomed to.

“Silence? Father told me never to write you. He was worried I might _influence_ Gavin. I just assumed he’d poisoned you against me.”  
  
“He was an idiot. Gav turned out fine, didn’t he? Templar and all that?”  
  
He could see the moment Arielle’s heart broke, the moment the blood left her face, and felt her hand grip his arm.

 _Maker’s breath. I should have..._  
  
“What did you just say?” Cullen stepped forward, defensive.  
  
“Did I… say something wrong?” Lisette’s anger faded and she looked between them. “Ellie?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Gavin…” Arielle crushed her hand to her mouth. She felt sick, clammy, as if she might faint to the cold marble. She might have if Lisette wouldn’t have caught her shoulders and shaken her.  
  
“Ellie what’s wrong?” Fear pooled in Lisette’s eyes. “Don’t you do this to me.”  
  
“The Templars…”  
  
“What of them?”  
  
“Where was he stationed?” Cullen asked her. “Do you know?”  
  
“Uhm… I’m not sure I… he’s been shuttled all over the place since the Mage Rebellions…”  
  
“What company was--” Cullen knew that was worthless. That she wouldn’t know any information about his Knight-Commander or his platoon… everything he’d worked for had suddenly collapsed in on itself. “Where was he before the Rebellions?”  
  
“Kirkwall.”  
  
“He was…” he’d thought to look for a child. She’d said she’d _heard_ of the boy. She’d _lied._

If he had been at Kirkwall he would have been... _Trevelyan_. No wonder her name had sounded familiar. He could make out the shape of a young knight with messy dark hair and a face so unlike Arielle’s he wouldn’t have put them together. He’d arrived with a fresh batch of recruits, serious as stone, and drank every one of Knight-Commander Meredith’s words like nectar.  
  
“He became a Templar…” Arielle steadied herself, clutching her sister’s elbows. “Oh spirits…”  
  
“Most of the Order has been corrupted,” Cullen said seriously. “I will find out where he was before the Lord Seeker aligned himself with Corypheus, and if it’s possible he could have escaped.”  
  
“What’s going on here?” Cassandra seemed to have noticed the commotion, charging over with Dorian at her hip and Josephine not far behind. “Who is this?”  
  
“No time for introductions. Cassandra pull any strings you have left in your pocket to find out where Knight-Corporal Gavin Trevelyan was stationed after Kirkwall,” Cullen told her. “If you can’t then tell Leliana to do it.”  
  
“I’m on it,” she said with a single glance to Arielle.

“I didn’t know…” Lisette told Cullen and he followed her eyes to Arielle’s figure. “I suppose I didn’t know a lot of things…”  
  
“We’ll find your brother,” Cullen assured her. “But give her… some time…”  
  
Arielle had long released her sister, walking to the railing to slide her fingers over the marble. Ice flowered from her fingertip, blossoming in swirls and geometric shapes that lapped at each other and mingled until she lifted her hand. She had just accomplished the impossible, had just established peace in a country, she had thought… all this time… that all these things would mean that her family would be safe as well.

She had obviously been wrong.

 

* * *

 

“You know I never knew you had a sister?” His hand between her shoulderblades drew her attention but did not draw her gaze away from the stars in the sky. Dorian leaned back against the railing and she buried her face in her hands. “You’re even pretty when you cry. It’s like magic.” He fought for the smile that curled into a grimace. “Come now there’s no need for tears… but I suppose if you must at least let me bottle them. They might have properties for a particularly powerful potion of beauty or perhaps they can unlock the secrets of Dumat’s tomb.”  
  
She shook her head, an involuntary laugh choking her tears, and he couldn’t keep from sighing and pulling at her curls with his hand gently, adjusting them against the collar of her robes.  
  
“You know crying ages you?” He tried another tactic and she finally laughed for real. “There that’s what I wanted.” He reached over and dabbed her tears with a kerchief.  
  
“I didn’t… expect this…” she murmured, watching her sister and her lover. “I didn’t know she would be here.”  
  
“I suppose _some_ people like surprises… though I don’t think those people are us.”  
  
She choked another laugh, taking his offered kerchief. “I haven’t seen her since I was a child. She takes after my father… I suppose both of them do.”  
  
“You were surprised?” She sighed, coiling the cloth around her fingers. “I thought as much. I’ve never seen you burst into tears like that before.”  
  
“What if I… made the wrong decision?” She asked, choking on her words.  
  
He frowned, serious in a heartbeat, “What did you just say?”  
  
“Dorian what if I…”  
  
“I feel like you just asked me to throw you off this balcony. I _will_ throw you off this balcony.”

She smiled bitterly, “It doesn’t matter does it? I couldn’t change it and even if I could… If only I had written… if only I had…”  
  
“You cannot blame yourself. You know that. We’ve been through this… you can’t blame _yourself_ for the choices of others… and you can’t blame yourself for the lives you _knew_ you’d have to sacrifice. Now go see your sister before your lover runs out of things to distract her with.”  
  
“Thank you Dorian.”  
  
“It’s what I’m here for. Kicking ass and taking names and slapping the shit out of you when you’re having a pity party.” But he winked and she reached out to squeeze his hand.  
  
“You know you’re not half bad for a _Vint_.”  
  
“You’re not half bad for a daft cow, either.” The smoulder of a glare warmed his chest and she tossed his hand away in a show of defiance, walking to her sister’s side to calm her.  
  
“How did you calm her down?” Cullen smoothed his hair and Dorian shrugged.  
  
“I’m a Mage. I twiddled my fingers and magicked her tears away.”  
  
“I’m sorry I asked,” Dorian grinned at Cullen’s half laugh. “What do you make of it?”  
  
“All this nonsense? I think it’s just another thing for _Ellie_ to worry about. I wish I had known about it all otherwise I would have tried to keep her from finding out…”  
  
“I did know.”  
  
Dorian gaped. He wasn’t sure he’d ever gaped before in his life but if there was a moment for such a word it was _now_.  
  
“You’re a mad man.”  
  
“I… she mentioned her family and I worried. I thought maybe… I don’t know what I thought... I thought they’d be a target so I sought them out. This was months ago. Before Haven and Corypheus and the Mages.”  
  
“You’re still a mad man. Why didn’t you say something?”  
  
“I didn’t think she’d be _here_ of all places! Her sister was supposed to be safe!”  
  
“I suppose, for all intents and purposes, she _is_ safe. The question is: where is her guardian?” Dorian squinted into the crowds of nobles facetiously.  
  
“Sulking somewhere I’m sure.” Cullen hung his head.  
  
“You going to tell her?”  
  
“That I fucked up? That I could have had her brother months ago? Safe and sound and unharmed? You want me to say ‘Inquisitor, you know I really fucked up.’ because I don’t think that would go over well.”  
  
“That’s… actually a really good place to start.”  
  
“No I... “ Dorian watched him clench his fist tightly.  
  
“You two belong together. I think you should just marry her right now because your baggage just fits right along with her baggage and together you two can have curly haired-baggage children.”  
  
“Now is not the time for your humor.”  
  
“I am the Inquisition’s resident court jester, I’m bound by honor to bring joy into your life.”  
  
“You’re bound to bring me a headache right now.”  
  
“Well yes that happens sometimes. Nasty side effect of that finger wiggling thing I told you about.”  
  
Cullen finally laughed, shaking his head, “Why do you take nothing seriously?”  
  
He pondered the question a moment, trying to understand where it came from and why. Cullen appeared serious on the surface, he was certainly no-nonsense and pithy with a dry, sardonic commentary and a self-deprecating humor… but he had soul and strength and all the things that made a good leader and a good warrior.

“If everything was doom and gloom… I should think this world would be a very dark one. I do, indeed, take things seriously. I understand _most_ things, you see, but I just don’t know that whatever those problems are should be _frowned_ about. You can’t change what you are or who you are or what you’ve done. All you can do is move forward and fight against those chains that bind you.” 

He watched Cullen relax a little, running his fingers through his hair again, “It’s hard to let go of.”

“Whether Lord Trevelyan is, indeed, gone forever is an unknown. If he is gone then we move forward. If he’s alive somewhere, hidden in plain sight, you send all your soldiers to find him and rescue him. For now he is nothing and you have more things to concern yourself with.”  
  
“Who made you official Inquisition therapist?”  
  
“I really just seemed to fill the role.”  
  
“It was Cassandra wasn’t it?”  
  
“You know she likes roses in her bathwater?”  
  
“I… didn’t…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay... that was a hell of a chapter. Feel free to check out the new aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	10. Though to itself, it only live and die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a boring chapter filled with history and sad things.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!

She hung her head back against the smooth marble behind her, closing her eyes against the steam that rose from the water, she wanted to push her thoughts and fears back and the searing water did help a little. She didn’t move when the washroom door opened and boots made their way towards her. She had no doubts about who it was, recognizing the gait of his step and the way he paused to take a breath before he spoke.  
  
“Is she alright, Cullen?” She prompted him and could almost feel the relief in his body.  
  
“She’s been given a room here at the chateau. She’s in shock and a bit upset but I think she’ll recover,” his hands found her shoulders and pulled a groan from deep in her gut when warm fingers began to rub the tension from her muscles. “I wasn’t expecting that.” She heard the smirk in his voice.  
  
“Feels good,” her breath caught in her throat when his thumb found a knot and pressed, kneading it out. “Is this just… something you felt like doing?”  
  
“You looked tense, someone has to take care of you while you’re taking care of everyone else.”  
  
“I suppose you’ve volunteered?” She tilted her chin up, rewarded with a soft kiss.

“You know when we met I didn’t know what to make of you. I wanted to turn on my heel and run like the devil.”  
  
“Yes I think you actually did that a few times,” she let him move her head forward, hands on her neck, pressing a thumb into the base of her skull gently and alleviating her headache.

“Ah well that wouldn’t surprise me. You were a startling beauty, a former prisoner, the survivor of a horrific incident and apparently blessed by Andraste… it was… very difficult not to be intimidated.”  
  
“And a Mage.”  
  
“And that, yes,” he couldn’t help but agree.  
  
“Cullen,” she reached up and caught the fabric of his shirt in her hand. “Come in, would you?”  
  
“In? The bath?” He didn’t need another moment of consideration and soon she was laughing at him as he sank into the hot water, releasing air between his teeth. “Did you boil this before you climbed in?”  
  
“I keep it hot with an immolation variant,” she laughed again at the scoff, smoothing her hands up his legs.

“Oh this _is_ nice,” she rested her head back against his chest as he spoke. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes, I mean there’s water all over Gaspard’s floor now but what are you going to do about it?”  
  
“Are you planning on keeping this place?”  
  
“The Empress said the Inquisition was free to use it whenever we like… so yes.” She felt the rumble of his laugh before it emerged, grinning. “You have a delightful laugh.”  
  
“I’ve always sort of hated it.”  
  
“Oh no it’s very nerdy and cute, kind of goes against the tough guy Templar thing.”  
  
“I’m… afraid I have no response.”  
  
She laughed at him again, feeling the warmth of his hand curl around her throat and slide down her sternum to cradle a breast. The rough pads of his other hand glided over her ribcage to rest against her stomach, relaxing there.

With that, silence reigned; leaving her with her thoughts and the soft sloshing of the water and the faint thump of Cullen’s heart. She didn’t know what to say to him, how to explain what she was feeling in the aftermath of their evening, but the slide of his skin against hers comforted her and his absent humming made her heart melt.

He seemed to sense she wanted quiet, lifting his hands to smooth her hair back from her face, letting it pool between them in the water, rubbing her temples enough to make her close her eyes and sigh… little actions that held her in place and kept her mind from wandering too far.  
  
“Elle,” She lifted her hand, summoning another flame seal to keep the water warm.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“What’s bothering you?”  
  
She hesitated, missing the comfortable silence.  
  
“What isn’t?”  
  
“Not the answer I was looking for, and you know it.”  
  
“Did I ever tell you what happened when I left my home for the Circle?” She traced a pattern on his knee, shifting her body to look at him.  
  
“No, I never asked I suppose?” His brows knitted.  
  
“May I tell you now?” She searched his eyes, finding acceptance there.  
  
“As long as you keep the bath water warm,” he tried to make her smile and succeeded, forcing her to drop her head against his chest again.  
  
“I can do that.”

 

* * *

   

I was born in a manor in the Free Marches to loving parents. Few are as lucky as me, I suppose, because my mother was fair and my father was kind and my sister loved me with all her small heart.

My mother always kept the gardens so beautifully pruned. The first thing I remember is running between the rose bushes in my pinafore with my older sister behind me, laughing and laughing.

The first time my grandfather came was an event. I was four and he was very tall with a clean, handsome face and gray hair that was shaved high and tight. He looked like a prince with his flowing white cape and the winged Templar helmet that he plunked down on my head whenever he picked me up. 

Every time he saw me he knelt before me and took my small hands and kissed them and told me how beautiful I was, how smart I was for remembering my numbers and learning my letters. He always smelled of tea and lyrium and the spices he carried.. _just in case_ he always told me. In case of what I was never quite sure.

I thought he was the most wonderful person. His voice was smooth and rich like melted chocolate and I used to beg him to read to me when he visited so he would sit for hours with Lisette and I and read in the gardens. As I grew older my grandfather’s stories enthralled me, I swallowed down fairytales and fables and legends like candy. My grandfather spoke of the wholesome Templars and the Circle at Ostwick and Apostates and Maleficars and _Tevinters_ and all those things seemed so mysterious and _gallant_ … like my stories.

My grandfather suggested I be interned with the Templars when I was seven. It was a thought. I had been training with him since I was a child, I had swallowed the nectar of the Templar myth, and I was skilled with the blades I had been taught with…

 _Why not?_ My grandfather nearly begged. _She would be one of the best._

My father wanted to wait, wait for just a bit longer--

 

* * *

  

“Wait you--” He sat upright in the water and she started, nearly falling into the bath, but he caught her with an arm. “ _You_ were going to be a _Templar_?”  
  
She looked up at him, turning easily in the bath to hook her feet against his waist. His heart was pounding hard against his sternum as understanding settled. It was no wonder she spoke so highly of the Templars, no wonder she had been so curious, no wonder she knew so much about them... and he had missed all the signs. He had passed it off as her training with her grandfather.  
  
“I was… yes…” she smiled bitterly and caught the hand he reached out to her. “I was well on my way. I trained hard according to my grandfather’s words and I learned everything I could about the Order without being an apprentice…”  
  
“Why didn’t you…” his words fell silent, sheepish. Of course she wouldn’t have become a Templar.  
  
Silence fell between them until she reached out and touched the side of his face and drew his eyes back to her.  
  
“I do appreciate your concern,” she said softly. There was something hollow about her eyes that reminded him eerily of a Tranquil and he had to look away.  
  
“Continue I… I’m sorry…”

 

* * *

 

I don’t remember too much about my mother... She was tall and fair like me, I remember that, but we all had my father’s eyes to varying degrees. She wasn’t against the idea of me joining the Order because her father was a Templar. None of his children had followed in his footsteps and she was very pious… she loved the idea of her daughter as a proud Templar protecting the Chantry.

My father always wondered why I never seemed to have any part of him… I suppose I did in the end, didn’t I? The Trevelyans were a Tevinter family with magic in their blood… I got the most defining feature in my life from my father… I suppose he should have been proud…

My brother was five when they made the decision to let me go. I had to wait until my twelfth birthday, though, that was the agreement. I remember when my grandfather told me… I had been playing with my sister in the courtyard, throwing snowballs back and forth with Gavin. The air was so cold and refreshing and the snow so beautiful on the dark velvets my sister and I wore. She was sixteen and soft and beautiful, I was eleven and thin and lanky like a boy. I was  _so_  jealous. Her dress was bright against the white; all wine and gold with brown fennec trimmings, a dress I had coveted.

“Papá!” I ran to him, letting him catch me in his arms and spin me around. I loved his laugh, how he grew his beard in the winter and rubbed it against my cheeks, how he propped me against his hip. My sister was my father’s pride and joy, I was my grandfather’s.  
  
“Ellie I’ve got a present to give you,” he said and I listened with breathless anticipation.  
  
He set me down in the snow and knelt before me in his velvets and leathers. I remember grabbing the furs of his cloak, how soft they were in my fingers, how he took a breath before he spoke… how proud his face was at that moment.  
  
“Your parents have agreed to allow you to enter the Order,” he told me and I felt the wind roar around me. I could feel the earth beneath my feet and the air in my lungs and each fleck of snow hitting my face and clinging to my lashes.  
  
“Papá we should go inside!” My sister’s voice was lost on the wind as she picked up our brother, shielding his head with her hand. “The storm’s picking up.” 

The storm was vicious after that. I remember thinking for days that we hadn’t had a snowstorm that bad before. I remember the people in the villages outside the city having to come in else be stranded. It was miserable.

I started having nightmares. I dreamt I was walking on golden sanded beaches and on battlefields of old and I met creatures and people I had never seen or heard of before. I recognize now that I had passed into the Fade without realizing it, ever so easily at that, and that demons had been drawn to me. I recognize now that I shouldn’t have waited a week.

I told my sister about them and we laughed but Gavin, naturally, was terrified.  
 

* * *

  

“That was…” She’d tapered off and drained the tub, stepping out and handing him a towel quietly.

He didn’t want to press it just yet, didn’t want to push her too hard, so instead he watched her dry off, watching the soft skin of her back stretch and pull over the fine bones of her spine, and slid his finger gently up the ridges. She looked at him in the grand mirrors, holding her towel over her chest, and he didn’t like what he saw there. Her eyes were empty like before, sad and disappointed, as if she could feel no more happiness and no more joy, and when she turned to him and sank her fingers into the towel he’d tucked around his waist his heart leapt.  
  
“Make love to me,” her words were soft and sweet and he wanted nothing more than to oblige her.  
  
“Arielle…”  
  
“Cullen... I don’t… want to think…”

“That’s not how it works,” he caught her face in his palm, removing her hand gently. He swallowed, searching the shades of her eyes; all violets and lavenders. Her waterline dampened and he could see her lip quiver ever so slightly, breathing shaky and fragile.

He wanted then and there to tell her that he loved her. He wanted to kiss the wrinkle that had formed between her brows in her sadness, wanted to smooth away the fears and terrors of her past beneath his fingers and sweep her up and spin her around until she smiled again… but he knew that wouldn’t do her any good.

“If you don’t want to tell me the story I understand…”  
  
“No… I should…” she placed her hand on his.  
  
“You don’t have to. Forcing it isn’t going to help.”  
  
“But neither is letting it fester anymore,” her hollow eyes took on new light. “I… need to get over it… I’ve been holding it all inside of me for too long.”

 

* * *

  
  
I suppose telling my siblings was the beginning of the end… Gavin told my mother I was having terrors and she told my grandfather. He gave me a sleeping draught one night, something he said would keep me from dreaming, and the storms finally stopped.

I think I made the realization before anyone else did… except perhaps my grandfather… sometimes I wonder if he knew all along that I was magic… if maybe he had seen the aptitude in me from an early age and had stayed close to me to protect me… 

It started with an argument.

I don’t even remember what we had fought about. Something stupid like _she said_ _this_ or _I said that_ because that was always what we fought about. Lisette was older and _right_ and I was younger and _wrong._

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have just apologized and it wouldn’t have happened.

She was standing a short way away from me, hands clenched into fists. She was shorter than me already but her rage was towering and she struck first. I’ve been hit harder now, of course, but at the time that punch hurt like nothing else because my face was hot and my eyes were burning and suddenly I was on the floor.

She started screaming before I knew what was wrong, before I realize the fire in the grates had risen so high it lapped at the tapestries and seared the walls. The smell of burning silks still haunts me sometimes.

My grandfather found us first, had heard her screams.

 

* * *

 

She was crying now, trying to force it back down with her hands against her eyes. 

“I had never felt fear like that before!” She slapped his hand away and rose from the bed, house robe trailing behind her. “I had never felt such… disappointment…” she slammed her hand against the wall and he kept his eye on the fireplace, just in case. “I was terrified of myself when I put it all together… _I_ was the one who had made the ice storm. _I_ was the one who had made the fires rise.”

“You were a child no one could--”  
  
“Don’t lie to me, Cullen!” She turned to him, such anger in her face as he had rarely seen. “Don’t lie to me! What would you have done? What would you have believed? What if it was your child? Your _daughter_ who tried to kill her own sibling?”  
  
“But you--”  
  
“But but _but_ it doesn’t matter does it? It doesn’t matter if I didn’t mean to. It doesn’t matter if those things could be controlled. What matters is… it looked like I was trying to kill my sister.” She gestured her hand and the flames in the hearth grew, forming dancing patterns of shadow and light against the walls. “It doesn’t matter how well I can control it now…” she said with hatred in her voice.  
  
She was right, he knew that, and once he might have agreed that she deserved to be locked away and chained… but he saw no need for that now. The woman he saw before him now had no troubles with her power, she had never been threatened in dreams of the Fade, she was _undoubtedly_ in control. Even in her anger, even filled with rage and disappointment, he felt no fear as he once would have. 

He sat quietly and let her stare him down… he knew it wasn’t him she was looking at, though.

“My grandfather wanted to wait…”

 

* * *

 

I think he hoped it wouldn’t be me. He’d hoped that it would be someone else… but he stayed in my room that night anyway and held me close in his arms and told me everything would be okay.  
  
I remember he wrapped me in his Templar cloak and I cried and cried until I’d worn myself out against his chest. I slept better that night with him there than I had in many. He read to me from my books and cradled me against him and stroked my hair…  
  
The next morning was the first time I remember seeing the now familiar fear and hatred that came with my _mark_ my _title…_ the _luxury_ of being a Mage.

My father’s suits were always charcoal in the winter, always decorated with dark blue velvets and handsome touches of silver and gold. His hair had begun to go gray at the temples, he looked so distinguished in his office with his mahogany desk and his thick leather books. My mother stood beside him in dark green with her dark blonde hair bound up.  
  
I asked where my siblings were and my mother moved towards me but my father stopped her. He told me they were far away from me, that I wasn’t to be near them again. He said I was a danger to the family. To _his_ children.  
  
As if I wasn’t his child.

My grandfather nearly hit him, I think. At least I remember being sent out to stand in the hallway, I remember the servants eyeing me nervously and whispering to each other-- giving me a wide berth as they passed… I didn’t understand how everything had changed in one night.

In one night I had lost _everything_.

I broke the windows.

So overcome by fear and anger and confusion I collapsed and dug my hands into my hair and pulled the pins out and wound the long strands around my hands and _screamed_ because I couldn’t hold the pain in any longer… I could hear the doors in the house slam open and the windows in the area shatter and glass was flying everywhere around me. I wanted to run. I wanted to be free. I didn’t want it to be like this.  
  
The Templars came through the doors before I could do anything… not that it mattered because they couldn’t get near me. I was terrified and powerful and that is never the way it should begin.

My grandfather tried to reach me. He was so unafraid, but unable to get through to me in my fear… the ward I had summoned was too powerful.  
  
I sobbed until my breath was ragged and everything ached and heard a Templar, oh how much I had loved them, walk towards me with his blade drawn. He thought to kill me because they couldn’t move me. My grandfather protected me, told him not to be afraid because I wasn’t going to hurt anyone… I trusted him and calmed when he finally neared again... 

They had come for a recruit. And left with a _prisoner_.

 

* * *

 

She threw her head back haughtily, sniffing, “It was all I had ever wanted.”  
  
She looked so sad and beautiful leaning on the Orlaisean mantle with the soft curls of her hair hanging around her face and her house coat hanging off one shoulder; he could see the shape of her breast and the soft curve of her belly and the sharp edge of her hip in relief of the firelight.  
  
“It was all I ever wanted and… she came back and tells me _I_ should have written. I lost _everything_ that day. I lost my dreams. I lost my family. I lost my _freedom._ You know what they do when they bring Mages in?”  
  
“Usually… yes…”  
  
“Then you know they aren’t gentle.”  
  
“No… not often.”  
  
“My grandfather had to step down as Knight-Commander at Ostwick. Too dangerous, they said, to have a family member in charge of my Circle.” She wiped her tears with her robe. “I… did manage to have some pull… I sent a couple of letters and… the Templars were always kind to me… they knew my grandfather and pitied him I suppose… but eventually the ones who had known him left and new ones came and nothing was the same.”  
  
Her hands shook as she straightened up, pushing her hair back from her face and curling her fingers into it to hold it in place.  
  
“My mother never was the same. I guess losing a child hit her hard. She grew ill in the months after my departure and died two years later. I didn’t write again after that.”  
  
He reached out to her when she neared the bed, let her fingers slide into his hand and kissed her knuckles.  
  
“I wanted to pretend… all my time in the Circle… that I had never known any of them. I tried to forget Gavin and his smile, I wanted to push away Lisette’s bossy kindness, I tried and tried and _tried_ to rid myself of my grandfather’s disappointment.”  
  
“Your grandfather loved you. It’s obvious.”  
  
“You can still be disappointed in your grandchild regardless of whether you love them or not.”  
  
“Arielle don’t think that way.”

“I decided that if I couldn’t become a Templar I would be the Grand Enchanter,” she laughed. “I would become First Enchanter and change _everything_ because someone had to. I might have, as well, if it wasn’t for the Rebellions.”  
  
Her anger, her fury, those were things he had needed to see. He had seen it in Kirkwall. He had seen it since… and he wasn’t sure he would stop seeing it until the day he died… and for that he was almost thankful. Once he had feared Mages, once he had thought them worthy of punishment for their existence… now he knew better.

“Thank you, Cullen.” She caught his face in her hands. “I’m sorry I… am sure you wanted this night to go differently.”  
  
“You know relationships are not all about sex and flirting… sometimes you have to deal with the bad stuff too… unfortunate as that _is_ ,” he grinned when she pat his cheek in a playful slap.  
  
“Don’t make me start calling you _Cully-Wully_.”  
  
“Why would you do that?” His face sank.  
  
“Sera invented it. I rather like it.”  
  
“Don’t like it. Please don’t like it,” he let her push him back on the bed. “Arielle if I ask anything of you it’s not to call me _that_.” He caught his hand on her neck, thumb brushing her jaw.  
  
“Kiss me.”  
  
He did this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time is Adamant I'm pretty sure.
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.
> 
> Feel free to check out the new aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	11. But if that flower with base infection meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons and addiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be porn.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!

She wasn’t sure when the sweet kisses had become this, of course she’d poured all her aggression into him; their kisses all bites and mischief. _Not_ that she was complaining in the slightest.

She panted, breath hot and heavy in her lungs as he pressed her hips hard to the bed, tongue sliding against her folds and his fingers deep and curling. The stubble on his cheek chafed the soft flesh of her thighs and she cried out, coil tight and hot in her core. He was holding onto her, pressure everywhere but where she needed it, and she moaned when his fingertips brushed inside her.  
  
“Please. _Please._ ” She pulled at his hair, trying to push up against the hard hand that held her in place. “Cullen!”  
  
His tongue flicked over her clit and she hooked a leg over his shoulder, trying desperately to push him harder into her.  
  
“Cullen by the _Maker_ \--”  
  
She _felt_ him smile and watched the muscles in his arm shiver ever so slightly through hazy eyes, wishing for only a moment that his endurance wasn’t so _damn_ high and that he didn’t _gloat_ about it and how she wanted to wipe that stupid--  
  
“Fuck!” She thought her body might crumble then, two fingers pressed up into her and his tongue… oh his _tongue_. She could write sonnets about the things he could do with his tongue.  
  
She was nearly shaking when he rose over her with that smug smile on his face and the subtle quirk to his eyebrow. He’d be prancing the next day, of that she was sure. She could taste herself in his mouth, lingering on his tongue when he kissed her, but the thought was driven from her mind with his cock pressing into her and all the heat that came with it.  
  
His hips rocked against hers once, twice, again, and then she was falling over the edge and her nails were sinking into his skin and he was all she could hold onto. He didn’t stop, pushing her back to her peak with dark words of encouragement growled against her ear and his teeth against her pulse. His name was all she knew against the pleasure that took them both, her grip on his waist pulling him in and lifting her hips just right.

He fell with her this time and the sound of her name on his lips in the silence shattered her.  
  
“You know I don’t think those doors are very thick,” he said finally and she very nearly giggled, still drunk off the heady rush.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about. They all already know.” She curled to him, seeking the warmth of his body again, and let him coil his arms around her. She liked how his curls had escaped again, how they softened his face and irritated him, and how he leaned forward and touched his lips to her brow and lingered for a moment.  
  
“Who said I was worried? I was just making you aware that you were nothing short of _loud_ and _disruptive_.” He laughed when she slapped his chest.  
  
“I’m sure if there was a problem someone would have come in. Wipe that smug look off your face before I--”  
  
“Before you what?”  
  
“I…”  
  
“You can’t think of anything, can you?”  
  
“ _Cullen_.”  
  
“Yes you’ve made it simply impossible to forget my name tonight. I’ve also been confused with the Maker which... I’m honored by,” she slapped his chest again, “in case you wanted to know.”  
  
“Don’t get full of yourself, Dorian was right there’s no living with you,” she closed her eyes when he nuzzled into the crook of her shoulder and kissed the skin there.  
  
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”  
  
“Somehow,” she wound her arms around his neck and let their foreheads rest together.  
  
“Somehow,” he echoed, a smile on his voice.

  

* * *

  

“I supposed now would be a good time to apologize?” Lisette asked, sitting beside him in the carriage as they trundled down the road.  
  
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Cullen told her. “By the way where _is_ Fenris?”  
  
“You? You’re the one that sent him after me?”  
  
“It was quite a while ago, but yes.”  
  
“He said his job was done…”  
  
“Well I suppose he’s correct. He’s likely returned to Hawke then…”  
  
“Leandra? Right?”  
  
“ _Andy_ , she prefers, but Fenris has pull with the boss.”  
  
“The Hero of Kirkwall… rather exciting to be close to someone who knows her.” She fanned herself giddily and for the first time he noticed the seam of a hilt in the handle.  
  
Cullen’s first impression of her had been a strange one. He’d seen a woman whose sister had been gone, whose life had been turned upside down, and after hearing Arielle’s story he couldn’t help but pity her as well… for both sisters it seemed each had received the better end of the bargain. His second impression was becoming largely suspicious.  
  
“Your sister is becoming her own legend very quickly.”  
  
“She is… isn’t she?” She murmured. “Tell me… how do you feel for her?”  
  
“I…” he hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to answer her, or if he was even ready to discuss such a thing. “I care… very deeply for her.”  
  
“And is that because of her _legend_?”  
  
“ _No_. If you think I’d--” She laughed, just as Arielle would have when he walked into a trap.  
  
“You are very serious. It’s cute.”  
  
“I have a very serious job,” he rerouted them. “What do you plan on doing now that you’re with the Inquisition?”  
  
“Oh a little here and a little there,” she shrugged a shoulder.  
  
“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” Cullen sighed. “If you’re going to be staying with us at Skyhold I would prefer it if you stayed out of trouble.”  
  
“You can be sure I will be no trouble,” she reassured, patting his knee. “Tell me how is my sister in bed?”  
  
“ _Why?_ … why does everyone ask that?!”  
  
“ _Legend_ and all that?”  
  
He sighed and sank back in the carriage, wishing Arielle was there… or _someone_ was there other than Josephine smirking at him over her clipboard.  
  
“Where _is_ Ellie, anyway? I expected to see her?”  
  
“She left for Crestwood this morning,” Josephine informed. “It was faster for the company to travel without the carriages.”  
  
“Oh I… had hope to see her…” Her face sank and she slumped against the window like a sulking child. “ _Is_ there anything I can do?”  
  
“Seeing as you have no battle skills I--”  
  
“Battle skill?” Cullen caught her wrist on reflex, having wondered if that might get a rise out of her. “I am a Trevelyan! We made our name on war and defense of the Marches. I’ve been trained by Royal Archers and Templars and Chevaliers, if you think for a moment that I--” her voice faltered when she realized she’d been tricked. “I…”  
  
“I thought there might be more to you,” Cullen slipped the dagger from her fan. “Ladies don’t often carry these without reason.”  
  
“Very impressive,” Josephine leaned forward with interest.  
  
“I know your family history. I think we have a few things you can do if you really want to help.”  
  
“For Arielle I’ll do what I can.” He smiled at the sentiment. “Do you know when she’ll be back? I… want to talk to her.”  
  
“She has a lot of work to do, but I’m sure she’ll see you when she returns,” Josephine set her clipboard down.  
  
“Alright…” she slipped her arm out of Cullen’s grip but he pulled her blade and twirled it around his fingers.  
  
“I think I’ll keep this for the remainder of the journey, afraid I can’t be too cautious.”  
  
“Treating your Inquisitor’s sister with such suspicion,” she eyed him and he stabbed the blade into the wall of the carriage away from her.  
  
“Can’t be too careful. I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s alright… but I want that back when we return.”  
  
“Certainly.”  
  
“Very sexy when he’s bossy, isn’t he?” Lisette said to Josephine and both women giggled.  
  
Cullen resigned himself to a very _very_ long ride.

 

* * *

  

“Inquisitor!” Hawke’s voice rang between the damp buildings and Harding turned. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late. My contact is up a ways but…”  
  
“The undead are still causing a problem here,” Harding sighed and Arielle glanced to her companions.  
  
“We can take care of it,” Dorian looked out over the water.  
  
“I wonder if there’s an easier way to get to that Rift…?”  
  
“There is, wade out there with all your clothes and armor on. I’m sure you’ll get there.”  
  
“Thanks, Dorian.”  
  
“You’re very welcome.”  
  
“Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer,” Cassandra sighed.  
  
“I can hold things down here if you want to find some answers,” Hawke said and Arielle nodded.  
  
“Give ‘em hell,” Dorian twirled his staff around his hand and Hawke pounded her fist to her heart in salute.  
  
“I do wish it wasn’t raining,” Arielle pouted, pulling her hood over her hair.  
  
“I think it’s delightful.”  
  
“The storm mage thinks the thunderstorm’s a good thing. Imagine that,” Cassandra held her shield over her head to protect herself, looking displeased.  
  
“Someone’s got to enjoy this weather. Of course I’d rather enjoy it at home in the nude with a cup of hot chocolate and brandy.”  
  
“The _in the nude_ part was necessary, was it?”  
  
“Oh it’s _very_ necessary, Cassandra.”  
  
Arielle laughed, sliding in the mud on their way up and feeling Cassandra brace her with a hand. It was strange how just a few short months before she’d had a completely different life… filled with fear and concern… but now she had a different kind of fear and a different kind of concern and so many more people relying on her. 

She would crumble, she was sure, without the support of her friends and companions… she heard Cassandra’s laugh below the low rolling of a thunderclap, glanced out of the corner of her eye to watch Varric give Dorian a five and Cassandra toss her head as if offended with a smile on her lips.  
  
Cassandra caught her eye and quirked her lips up, lifting her brows reassuringly. Arielle smiled in return, glad for her ever dutiful presence.

The Seeker never questioned Arielle’s insistence that she join her for missions, she never complained with any serious intent, and she obeyed orders without argument. Cassandra trusted her, unfailing and unshaken in her belief that Arielle was the one she was to follow.  
  
“Hey!” Varric snapped his fingers and she shook her head to clear her thoughts.  
  
“Sorry,” she smiled, hearing her companions laugh again.

It was good to have these people beside her.

 

* * *

 

The air evaporated around her, sizzling away from the blasts of her staff as she twirled it and moved in timed elegance with Dorian. Her hair clung to her face, slapped her cheeks with each turn, and her grimoire hung heavy and damp at her hip but none of those things mattered. What mattered was that they were up to their ankles in thick mud and demons.

Varric had perched atop a sodden building, picking off demons with precision, and Cassandra crushed them beneath her boot heels… but they were swarming now. Arielle summoned a blizzard, the pages of her grimoire fluttering, and Dorian’s lightening struck immediately after, shattering the frozen Rage demons. They clacked their bracers together in congratulations, a practice that had become habit at this point, without missing a beat -- staves whirling.  
  
“Cassandra!” Arielle threw her hand. If the demon wasn’t destroyed by the ice spikes that speared it, it was likely ruined by the lightening strike or the bolt from Bianca that shattered its skull.  
  
“Thank you…” The Seeker looked relieved, lowering her shield to look at them with a strange sort of awe. “I wasn’t…”  
  
“We take care of our own,” Varric assured her and for once she didn’t look angry at the mere fact that words were exiting his mouth.  
  
“He’s right,” Arielle grinned, pushing her hair back from her face. “We wouldn’t leave you out to dry… so to speak.” She looked up at the rain storm above them.  
  
“Yes quite the turn of phrase,” Cassandra sighed. “Inquisitor would you mind if we went somewhere more _dry_ next time?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Arielle grinned. 

 

* * *

  

Stroud was not exactly what Dorian had been picturing. Somehow he’d thought _Blackwall_ when he thought of a Warden… then again most Grey Wardens he’d met were different variations and flavors of _Blackwall_ but this man was Orlaisean and strangely… sauve.

He was still thinking about him when they reached Skyhold to prepare to meet with Stroud and Hawke, but that didn’t stop him from lingering outside the smithy’s when he saw Arielle walk in with confusion on her face. He watched Cullen walk out and stalk up the stairs, a strange desperation on his face, and hesitated to follow.

He knew, from looking at him, that it was withdrawal again… that something had triggered his anger and frustration and the pain in his body only amplified it.  
  
“He’s been under a lot of stress,” Dorian nearly jumped with Lisette at his elbow. “Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.”  
  
“It’s alright I didn’t even know you were still here…”  
  
“Yes I’ve been helping,” she smiled sheepishly. She was wearing an Inquisition marked tunic, quite different from the gowns he’d met her in. “Is my sister…”  
  
“She’s in there with Lady Cassandra.” He gestured. “I’m not sure now is the time…”  
  
“Now is… never the time is it?” She sighed.  
  
“What is it you want from her? Why are you here?”  
  
“I… don’t know anymore… the Commander told me she’d speak with me when she returned but I…”  
  
“You don’t want to, I take it?”  
  
“I don’t know what to say anymore… I feel like during the build up to meeting her again I had all these words planned but… seeing her again and seeing her like _this_ all official business and saintly… I guess I feel like so many of my problems are petty.”  
  
“Well most problems _are_ petty I think you’ll find. That doesn’t make them any less real to you. And in comparison to the problems your dearest sister has… well don’t we all look like small children whining in our own beds.”  
  
“You are very close with my sister, aren’t you?”  
  
“Thick as thieves, as they say.”  
  
“Ah…” he could see the disappointment in her face. “I suppose I’ll stick around to find my brother… Commander Cullen said there are no resources yet but Miss Nightingale has put _feelers_ out.”  
  
“She does that at times, very creepy.” Arielle exited the blacksmith’s shop finally, immediately followed by a sad looking Cassandra who curled her hand into the doorframe and watched her go. “If you’ll excuse me. I have some work to do.”  
  
“Some spying to do.”  
  
“Well that’s work for some people.”

Cullen was right. When _did_ he become the Inquisition shrink? He must need to dampen his apparent approachability, or put up a barrier every time someone dared to near him… then again he _did_ love to talk.

About himself anyway. If that helped people then he supposed that was alright with him.

  

* * *

 

She could see the pain in his face, nearly feel the anger pouring off him, when he slammed his hand against the bookcase and rattled it. There was so much hatred in his voice. For himself, for his choices, for his _life_ and how it had happened...  
  
“Cullen…” she’d had no idea. The sinking pit in her stomach swallowed her heart and for a moment she felt powerless to do anything to help. She had bared most everything to him, had told him things about her past she had told no one else, and he was doing the same. She had held no fear, had never worried he wouldn’t accept her words, but he did… his bones would crack beneath the weight of his past before he would risk losing her.  
  
Perhaps she should have played her cards closer to her chest, perhaps she should have kept her fears secret, perhaps she should have considered how what she said might make him feel… she had never imagined this, though, and she never could have anticipated it.  
  
There was no taking it all back now, there was only acceptance, and understanding.

She reached out to touch the side of his face, to draw his face up, but his eyes lingered anywhere else but her.  
  
“Cullen look at me,” she drew his gaze finally, fleetingly. “I want you to do what you want. This isn’t about _me_ or the Inquisition. In the end it’s you who will have to live with your decision. I will support _any_ decision you make.”  
  
His honeyed eyes searched hers, tired and sunken and _nearly_ defeated, but a light sparked in them and his face softened, his hand releasing the tension. His decision had been made.  
  
“Good thing you missed.” His smile pulled weakly at his lips and she closed her eyes against the gentle kiss he touched to her brow. “I’ll give you some time,” she murmured.  
  
“Thank you,” his voice was hoarse and low as he drew away. She wasn’t sure if he was thanking her for giving him time or for helping him make up his mind… maybe it was for both or for something else: 

Grateful for her acceptance.

She stopped in the doorway to watch him grip the windowsill, to watch him sigh and release the tension, and desperately wanted to reach out to him again. She wanted to rub away the emotions from his shoulders as he had for her, to press her mouth against all his pain and kiss the fears away, but unlike her wounds… his were still fresh. His were deep and festering and this moment had been a blood letting to let nascent flesh take root. 

So she didn’t linger long, long enough to let him know she had, to let him see she remained for a moment longer to see if he would be alright… then she turned and left him in the quiet.

 

* * *

 

“When I asked for dry _this_ was not exactly what I had in mind…” Cassandra looked out over the sands of the Western Approach, hand on her knee.  
  
“You know what they say? Be careful what you wish for,” Dorian looked down into the canyon, wrinkling his nose.  
  
“This feels like a cruel joke,” Varric grumbled.  
  
“Do I hear unrest in the ranks?” Arielle arched an eyebrow.  
  
“Are we being _punished_ for something?” Cassandra asked dispassionately.  
  
Arielle cracked a smile a mile wide, silently starting off towards their destination.  
  
“We _are_ being punished,” Dorian grumbled, following Arielle.

“But for what is the question,” Varric adjusted his crossbow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn't think I was kidding about that whole porn thing...
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  **Next time is Adamant FO REALZ THO. (i lied, chapter 13)**  
>   
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.
> 
> Feel free to check out the new aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	12. The basest weed outbraves his dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are always two sides to any story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this chapter...
> 
>  
> 
> [Art for this chapter! (and several others!)](http://sketchingsparrow.tumblr.com/post/109593404439/sketch-commissons-for-jocunditea)  
> 

“What are you up to?” She turned to find Cullen standing behind her, arms folded over his chest.  
  
“I’m thinking,” Lisette answered. “She’s been gone for days…”  
  
“That happens. She’s away more than she’s here anymore,” Cullen leaned on the battlement wall where she sat and she unfolded her legs, kicking her feet out. Were her boots not bound to her ankles they might have slipped off and fallen into the valley below, the thought of one of them hitting someone in the head made her grin. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile in a while. Very like Arielle.”  
  
“Yes well we are sisters. Same parents begets same features, so they say.” She looked over at him. “Why are you here?”  
  
“You walked through my office to get out here, it was hard for me not to notice that you passed by.”  
  
“You might put your office in a better location, then?”  
  
“Arielle keeps telling me that but I like staring down the scouts when they walk back, keeps them on their toes,” he smirked.  
  
“Is there a reason you’re out here talking to me, though? I thought you were suspicious of me?”  
  
“I am, still.”  
  
“Because you’re like a grizzly bear. Even look like one,” she caught his cowl and shook him playfully.  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he batted her hand away, chuckling when she tried to poke at him again.  
  
“I mean you’re this big hulking bloke, right? You’re used to pushing people around and getting your way and you use that power to protect my sister. How many of her sidekicks have you asked to protect her because you can’t leave this place? I’ve sniffed you out, Cullen Rutherford.”  
  
“And what do you see in me?” His voice was sincere despite her teasing and her demeanor softened.  
  
“I see a man who loves my sister…” she poked his cheek into a smile. “But you’re not one of those overly romantic types like _I can’t lose you_ or _I’m nothing without you_ because you’re too strong for that, you know that _with_ her you’re stronger but without her you’d survive. Not healthy that, becoming so reliant on another person you can’t survive on your own. Arielle’s always been the same way. She’s never been afraid to cut her lines if she has to…”  
  
“That’s not true.”  
  
“What?” She found his face, kind and understanding in the cool air.  
  
“Maybe you’re giving your sister too much credit. She’s human, too, and it hurts her just as badly to... she mentioned you to me. Long ago at Haven. That’s why I went looking for you and your brother. I saw something in her then… an empty sort of pain…”  
  
“Yeah I know that…” she touched her hand to her chest. “I always blamed myself, y’know?”  
  
“Did you? For what?”  
  
“For what happened to her. For how it all went down. When we were children she would bloom flowers for me and her touch calmed the rabbits and foxes on our land. Children don’t make those connections. For them magic is… well _magical_ and it’s unknown. You aren’t born with a prejudice, it’s ingrained into you with a blunt knife over decades until the knife is scraping your bones and you can’t pull it out.”  
  
“Hedge magic… she was showing so young…”  
  
“Yes but it never… went beyond that… our grandfather knew. It’s why he spent so much time with her, assessing if she was a threat, but he was trying to reform the Ostwick Circle at the time and didn’t want to pull her away from home just for some blooming flowers and flickering candles.”  
  
“So he… never intended to have her interned with the Templars…” realization set in.  
  
“No… I don’t suppose he did… but it’s what she wanted. And he wanted her to be happy, he loved her _so_ dearly but he knew, at some point, that she would have to be taken in so entertaining the idea that she could become a Templar wasn’t… I guess it didn’t seem like that bad of an idea.”  
  
“She wanted it so badly,” Cullen murmured. “I could hear it in her voice… but I don’t know if it would have been any better to say no.”  
  
“Saying yes meant she trained hard, meant she learned her lines, it meant she was driven and dedicated and learned to control herself. For a Mage, my grandfather always said, it was just as important the body be trained with the mind. He wanted her to be more than what a Mage could be.”  
  
“Did you know all of this?” He looked up at her.  
  
“No my… grandfather told me before he died. I knew about the little spells and things but other than that… no I had no idea he’d known or what his plan was. If I had… not been so selfish that day maybe she could have stayed longer…”  
  
“She was already casting an uncontrolled blizzard over the region…”  
  
“She told you?” Lisette lifted her brows. “Did she also tell you that I yelled at her because she broke my favorite necklace? Our grandmother had given it to me when I turned 16 and I wore it _everywhere_. It had the most beautiful cameo of one of our ancestors with this fine gold chain. We were running around in the house… she was chasing me with snow or something because she slipped on the water and she reached out to grab me but she grabbed my necklace instead…” She hung her head. “Now it seems so stupid. Now, all these years later, I wish I could slap myself silly and tell her how much more important Arielle was than some stupid necklace…”  
  
“You fought?”  
  
“She tried to apologize but I wouldn’t have any of it. She was crying before I knew it, ashamed of having broken something she knew was precious to me. I remember her standing there with that chain clutched in one hand and her face scarlet and tears streaming down her face. It escalated. She told me I was a horrible sister and she told me she wished I hadn’t been born and I was so terrified I slapped her. It was all such a blur. After I had protected her. After I had realized she was magic. I felt like she didn’t _deserve_ to say such a thing to me.”  
  
“The fire…”  
  
“Yes the fire… the room still smells like smoke. The plaster’s never been the same.” She tilted her head back and swung her legs. “Cully Wully, tell me something?”  
  
“I… prefer that… where did people get this…” he fussed over her nickname. “Please don’t call me that.”  
  
“Do you think she could ever forgive me?” She asked, taking a breath.  
  
“Does it matter if she does?”  
  
“Either way… her answer would give me closure… I guess…”  
  
“If it helps I think she might. But if you’re going to tell her it might be best you do it… sooner rather than later. And know, going in, that all this might make it worse.”  
  
“What kind of a woman has my sister become?” She murmured. “I always wondered that.”  
  
“A flawed one that is not without kindness and grace,” he answered, regardless of the rhetorical nature of her question. “She won’t accept any of this unblinkingly, but I think it might help her as well… or it could break her… I suppose we’ll see…”  
  
“My grandfather always built her up. He knew, one day, that she would be destroyed from the inside out… he wanted her to withstand that pressure.”  
  
“Your grandfather sounds like a good man in a difficult situation.”  
  
“Most good men arise from difficult situations,” she ruffled his hair. “Yes?”  
  
“I get the feeling you’re calling me a good man?”  
  
“I might be.”  
  
He laughed, clear and open, but his smile didn’t fade.  
  
“Thank you, that made me feel better,” she wrapped her arms around her knees. “You are very neutral in all this.”  
  
“I’m in no place to judge,” he straightened up. “And I want Arielle to be happy.”

“Kind man. Good man. You can marry my sister.”  
  
“Who said anything about--” he flushed. “You are intolerable.”  
  
“You’ll tolerate me. I’m already planning your wedding.”  
  
He made a sour noise, waving his hand as he turned to walk back into his office.

 

* * *

 

“Good morning, Lisette,” Josephine greeted, accepting the papers offered to her. “How are you?”  
  
“Better,” she sounded better, smiling softly. “I spoke with Cullen a few days ago… I feel... better.”  
  
“Oh? Have you seen him today? There was to be a meeting in the War Room and Arielle sent word ahead that she would be coming in soon I… thought he might…” her words slowed. “I suppose I should check on him.”  
  
“I can do it if you want?”  
  
“No, please stay here,” Josephine requested and Lisette nodded. “If anyone comes in tell them--”  
  
“I’ll let them know you’re busy.”  
  
“Thank you,” Josephine hustled out, showing no hint of what she was thinking.  
  
It had been a long time since Cullen had missed a meeting, even longer since he'd failed to show up to work at all. While she wanted to entertain the idea that he was simply ill... fear got the best of her. Cassandra had made her aware of his condition, of his concerns, and she knew what had transpired a few days before... but worry still tightened her muscles and wore on her brow as she ascended the stairs.  
  
Cullen was the general of their standing army, and while she respected his decision there was a primal fear that all they had worked for would come crumbling down around them without him.   
  
She remembered, when he'd first arrived, he'd seemed so collected. The first time she found him in the throes of withdrawal as the first time she saw him as human, before he had seemed too beautiful and too gentle... of course learning about his colorful past during her research had interested her. She'd spent hours getting to know him since then, spending days in the war room with the other advisors working on strategies and theories.

_I can't let him down._

If he needed someone now, even if that person was going to help him get out of bed that day, then she would play that part.

 

* * *

  

He could see beams of light filtering in through the drawn curtains, hand shaking as he lifted it to his face. The worst part, besides the physical pain of his entire vascular system attempting to rip its way out of his skin, was the loneliness. The constant head cold, the shakes, the fevers; the physical withdrawal… he could push through that. He could wake up from the dreams and work through the nightmares… but the psychological pain was the worst:

It left him drained and destroyed, the soft beating of his aching brain against the inside of his skull only amplified the empty feeling in his chest. It was moments like this that he was glad Arielle wasn’t there, that she had never seen him in this state, because he couldn’t imagine her reaction.

Maybe she would leave him.

The withdrawal held onto that idea. It clung to it with its black tendrils of fear and regret and held him captive with it. He couldn’t move, couldn’t make himself get up, what was the point if all he was -- all he could be -- was a burden. She would see him that way, he was certain, despite her kind words. If she knew him like this, if she saw him reliving his darkest moments laying motionless in his bed, she would leave.

 _“I will support_ any _decision you make.”_

He felt weak, pathetic, powerless with shaking hands and limbs so heavy he couldn’t lift them and it _swallowed_ him. How could they deem him worthy to keep around? How could he be expected to lead an army like this? He wouldn’t take it, he knew he wouldn’t take it, his willpower was stronger than that but…

Could he lead like this? How could he be anything but a burden?

The spiral sucked him in, chewed on his thoughts until only darkness remained, and he prayed for release. He whispered Chantry hymns to himself and recited prayers and grit his teeth down against the urge to vomit.  
  
“Maker…” the knock at his door drew his attention and he tried, for a moment, to collect himself before the inevitable boots on his ladder.  
  
“Commander?” Josephine’s voice rose up to him. She was too polite to storm in.  
  
“I’m sorry, Josephine, did I miss the meeting?” He tried to calm his hoarse voice, dragging his sorry carcass up even as his limbs quaked at the effort.  
  
“Yes it’s… you’re almost an hour late…”  
  
“Fuck,” he fisted the sheet and bore down the pain, standing despite the nausea. “I’ll… be there momentarily.”  
  
“The Inquisitor will be back soon, as well, her raven came in this morning.” She said more softly this time as he pressed his hands to a wall, the stone cool and real beneath his fingers. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes, Ambassador, thank you.”

That’s right. People were relying on him. People to whom it didn’t matter that he suffered this way… people who, without him, would die. The shadow of doubt cleared slightly. He could lead with a clear head, without regrets, without the drain that was lyrium. 

 _“This isn’t about_ me _or the Inquisition. In the end it’s you who will have to live with your decision.”_

“You’re right…” he smiled scathingly. “I made this decision. I can lead without it.”  
  
“I’m glad,” Josephine said softly and he lifted his head, not realizing she hadn’t left. “I will see you soon, Commander.”  
  
He looked at his hands, finally hearing her leave, and ran them over his face tiredly.

_I have people relying on me. I can’t give up now._

 

* * *

 

“Inquisitor!” He nearly jumped when she walked into his office, face softening.  
  
“Were you waiting for me?” Seeing her, hearing her voice, eased whatever suffering he’d had.  
  
“Yes! I mean _no._ ”  
  
“Well… then it’s a good thing I was and _wasn’t_ keeping you waiting,” Arielle smiled.  
  
“Are you busy?”  
  
“Well I have a continent to save and a brother that’s missing and I can’t seem to find my sister anywhere in this godforsaken castle but no… not really?” She walked over and shuffled through some of the papers on his desk.  
  
“I would… since we’re waiting for word from Hawke and Stroud I thought… we have some dealings in Ferelden and I thought you’d like to go.”  
  
“Of course,” she smiled playfully. “Here I thought it would be something time consuming.”  
  
“You…”

“Come on I thought you wanted to go to Ferelden?” She turned to leave.  
  
“I do. Let me pack at least.”  
  
“What are you going to pack, Commander? Your fancy knickers?” He sighed at her joke, half-hating how funny she thought she was.  
  
“Fine, fine have it your way. I’ll just come along and wear the same clothes every day for a week.”  
  
“Who said you’d be wearing clothes?”  
  
“I’ll… make the necessary arrangements…” he sighed, smiling against her snickering.

 

* * *

  

She couldn’t say she wasn’t expecting it when he lead her out to the lake. She couldn’t say she wasn’t honored and humbled by his sharing… by the kindness in his words and the openness with which he now spoke.

Something had changed in him since he’d admitted his addiction to her. Something deep and warm had blossomed and she couldn’t take her eyes off him as he spoke. His offer touched her, such a simple and meaningful gift, that nearly took her knees out from under her.  
  
“You keep it.” She curled her hand into his. “I don’t want your luck to run out.”  
  
“Nor do I,” he pulled her over, “not when I finally have some.” The way his face brightened, the adoration in his eyes, things that made her chest tight as she leaned into his kiss, almost desperately.

“Cullen,” she touched his face when he drew away, sliding her thumb over the scar on his lip. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”  
  
“I… am…” His eyes flickered over her face and she smiled, kissing him again and letting his arms wrap around her.  
  
He was right, this lake was more peaceful than she could have imagined, with the moonlight bouncing off the water and the stars reflected like a mirror.  
  
“Cullen…” she pulled back from him, a wicked grin on her face, and he gave her a half-cocked sort of smile.  
  
“Why do you have that… smile on your face?” He sounded mildly uncomfortable.  
  
“You _do_ know I care very much for you.”  
  
“Yes I’m… aware…” he didn’t look like he liked where this was going.  
  
“And you are… wonderful and gentle but you’re… just so _serious_ sometimes.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“Please forgive me,” she threw herself forward and they both went down yelling into the lake, armor and all.

  

* * *

 

“It’s freezing you madwoman!” When his head broke the water he found her nearly in tears, elbow deep in water. She was peeling the fabric and leathers of her clothes off, tossing them onto the dock with her staff, her hair falling from its braid to slick to her face. 

“I know!” She reached for him, helping unbuckle his plate and peel his clothes off with warm kisses in the frigid waters, and he gave into the smile that pulled at his face. “But that can be changed.” The quirk of her eyebrow drew him in but before he could kiss her again she had taken off in the dark water, breaking above the surface a few feet away.  
  
“It can’t very well be changed with you halfway across the lake!” He protested and swam after her, breathless in the cold when she swam away from him again, her laughter his guide.

“ _I’m glad you’re feeling better.”_

_“I am…”_

It hadn’t felt like a lie. It felt like Truth. The kind of truth that sank deep in the soul and uplifted it. He knew he’d suffer again, that the dark thoughts would consume him again, but his decision was steadfast now and branded into his skin. He would struggle. He would survive. And it was because… _no_ … it wasn’t _because_ of her but because of her _belief_ in him.

She had been right, all along, that there had been a fire inside of him and she had only added fuel and kindling to keep it going. She had kept the fire alive in the cold dark of depression and withdrawal.

He reached for her, finally wrapping his arms around her and kissing away her laughter. She trickled water over his hair and coiled her legs around his waist and made him forget all about his worries for a moment, escaping again to splash him until they were both howling with laughter and yelling obscenities like teenagers without a care in the world… not the leaders of the Inquisition and the bearers of the fate of the world.

“Who’s out there!?” A voice called, a lantern flickering in the distance and hoofbeats drew closer against the cool ground.  
  
“Oh shit…” Arielle giggled, pressing her hand to her mouth and he felt panic rise in his chest, incapable of holding back the devious smile at the potential of being caught. “Run!”  
  
“Wait…” his face softened, catching Arielle’s hand against his chest to keep her from pushing away.  
  
“What the hell I keep telling these kids to--” the woman’s voice faltered as the horse neared. “By the Maker…” The light fell over them and Arielle shielded her eyes, hiding against Cullen’s bare skin.  
  
“No one will ever let this go,” he said in a mortified undertone.

“ _Cullen_. Stanton. _Rutherford_.” She said each of his names with an equal mixture of fury and warm affection and he heard Arielle trying to hold back horrified laughter, fighting back his own grin.  
  
“Mia?” His body felt numb as his eyes adjusted to the light and for a moment he could see just what they looked like: Arielle with her cheek against his shoulder, pressed tight against him in modesty, her hand in his and all their clothes on the dock. If his sister wouldn’t have been there it would have been romantic.  
  
“You know when I said I wanted to see you again naked in the middle of a lake was not exactly what I had in mind...”  
  
“Not my first choice either, honestly…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sisters being there really does kind of dampen the mood.
> 
> Okay okay the beginning of Adamant next time really really truly I just needed to wrap some stuff up.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.
> 
> Feel free to check out the new aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	13. For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sister. Lover. Adamant Fortress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did finally get to Adamant. I did I really did this time. 
> 
>  
> 
> Bonus points for whoever tells me which part was supposed to be cut but managed to stay in because I couldn't stop laughing about it.

He couldn’t remember a time he had been more mortified, leaning against the mantle in at the hearth of his old home. It might have been an easier pill to swallow if he wouldn’t have been naked and yelling like a child.

He sighed and looked around, anxiety setting in. Everything seemed… untouched. A few things were different in decoration but the farmhouse was still wonderfully warm and still smelled of cedar and spices… but that didn’t stop his terror when Arielle paused in the doorway to the kitchen in a simple dress, a leather belt cinched around her waist. Her fine blonde hair was down in damp spirals, violet eyes on him, and he offered a half smile.  
  
 _Maker_ she could make anything look like finery.  
  
“Are you going to sit? The chairs don’t have spikes on them…” his sister told him as he crossed into kitchen. “Your clothes won’t dry in the blink of an eye.”  
  
“I’m fine, thank you,” he moved to the chair Arielle set herself down in.  
  
“Are you hungry? It’s the middle of the night but I do have some mulled wine and shepard’s pie,” Mia offered.  
  
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” Arielle looked up at Cullen, placing her hand on the one that gripped the back of her chair. She wondered what he was thinking, he could tell, because her eyes were imploring and something about the serious set to her mouth told him she was worried about him.  
  
“It’s no trouble, would you like some, Cullen?”  
  
“Oh… if Arielle is…”  
  
“So _that’s_ her name.” She smiled wisely and turned to retrieve the wine.  
  
It was strange, after all this time, to be back in this house as if nothing had changed. Strange to be returned to his youth and to be cut open and exposed to the truths he’d left behind long ago. His muscles felt tight around the dull pain he carried daily, worse now after the blindingly cold water they’d been exposed to, but that may not have been the problem.  
  
In his childhood this place had been a comfort. His home had been warm and welcoming, bright and clean and filled with laughter. Perhaps that was why Arielle had always drawn him to her, she was a shard of light in otherwise dark days. Here, though, he felt the changes in his bones and in his soul. Here he felt the stark contrasts, the finite changes of a man who had been shattered and reformed and again reforged.

“Did you…”  
  
“Yes I introduced myself, very awkward way to start a friendship…”  
  
“Did skip the expected courtship behaviors that frequently come _before_ exposing yourself fully naked…”  
  
“Are you alright?” Concern still pulled at her face and he felt a fine needle of sadness pierce his heart, slight but deep.

“A bit nostalgic… the last time I was here…”  
  
“Was a very long time ago,” his sister finished, returning with plates and wine. “Are you going to greet me at all, Cullen?”

 

* * *

 

She watched him hesitate, watched him walk towards his sister, face unreadable but usually proud shoulders visibly hunched.

“I’m not mad, silly boy,” she reached up to touch his face. “You’re so tall… mother will never believe me.” She pulled him into an embrace and he didn’t resist, letting her hold him tightly and holding her in return.  
  
Arielle saw, in that moment, the boy that had left home. She saw him filled with hopes and dreams and excitement at becoming a Templar… at having an adventure far from home. As they talked, as his sister filled her in on all the things he’d done and the mulled wine slowly vanished and Cullen loosened his tongue… she saw what she could have had with Lisette.  
  
What she could have with her sister if she only reached out to her.  
  
He watched her when his sister offered to let them stay while their clothes dried, keeping an eye on her while she wandered around his childhood room and ran her fingers over the furniture curiously.  
  
“You really did have long hair…” she examined the portrait on his dresser, looking over at him standing in the doorway, leaning against the door frame.  
  
“He did… right proper choir boy,” Mia dusted off the bed and looked between them.  
  
“He looks like an angel,” Arielle smiled at the frame, setting it back down gently. “Very sweet.”  
  
“Blond’s a bit odd for a grown man, I had always hoped to grow out of it,” she shot him a devilish look and he smiled.

“You’re the only one who stayed blond,” his sister touched her own hair. “I’m assuming you’ll be sharing a bed?”  
  
Cullen hesitated to answer and Arielle laughed, “That will be fine.”  
  
“Cully would you mind helping me for a moment?” Mia asked.  
  
 _Cully._ So that’s why he didn’t like it, she had to hide her smile behind her hand but she knew he’d seen her.  
  
“I… Mia I’m trying to keep people from using that nickname.”  
  
“Well I am not people,” she winked at Arielle. “Do you mind if I borrow him?”  
  
“No, not at all,” Arielle shook her head watched them leave. She ran her fingers over the wooden desk beneath a window sucking in air when a piece of parchment sliced her finger. She pressed the papercut closed and held it tightly, pulling what had cut her free from the desk with curiosity.

She had found a page of sketches; of plants and trees and flowers and children and all the things a boy could see from his window. She wondered what it must have been like growing up here… not so different from her own childhood, she could imagine, with love and warmth a bulwark against the tides of life.  
  
“Digging around in my things now?” He startled her, shutting the bedroom door behind him.  
  
“I found it,” she gestured, slipping her hand into his when he walked over and resting her forehead against his shoulder. His hand found the back of her neck, rubbing ever so gently with calloused fingers until she relaxed and took a breath. “Why do you do that?”  
  
“Why do I do what?” The innocence in his tone was obvious and playful.  
  
“I don’t know… when I should be asking if you’re alright or if I should be dealing with your tension you just…”  
  
“Touching you, being near you, is relaxing to me,” he said simply, “I don’t always need to talk things out or have someone rub my shoulders… sometimes I just...”  
  
“I see.”  
  
Quiet descended like nightfall, slow and steady, until all she could hear was his heartbeat in her ears and all she could feel was the gentle pressure of his fingers on the nape of her neck. Together, at this moment, all was calm.

He was the respite in the howling gales of her life. He was the raft to which she clung in the storm. Even if he wasn’t steady, even if they were being tossed about in dark waters with no end in sight, he was there and he was unsinkable. With him was where she could feel most grounded, where she could clear her mind and breathe again as if once they left this room they wouldn’t be charging straight into battle again.  
  
She felt it then, the understanding of what had changed between them, but had no idea how yet to overcome it or how to put the feeling into words.  
  
For now this was enough. It was enough to feel his cheek against her hair and his chest shift when he sighed, still for once.

It was enough that she could still him.

 

* * *

 

She was sad to leave the next morning, pulling her armor and leathers on. She weighed her staff in her hand experimentally, running her fingers over the cover of her grimoire and lifting it with magic, pages fluttering. The impermeability spell had served her well, one of her own creation, and she was glad to see nothing had been ruined.

“What’s that for?” Arielle looked up, the book falling back against her hip. “I know you’re a Mage, I’m not an imbecile.”  
  
“It’s a grimoire,” she answered. “Spellbook.”  
  
“You’re not like what I expected.”  
  
“You know I get that a lot?” Arielle’s self-deprecating smile eased her own tension.  
  
“I didn’t think you’d be so normal… Inquisitor and all that… the Mage thing was a bit of a surprise though…”  
  
“About Cullen…”  
  
Mia held up her hand to quiet her, “Listen to me for a moment. I don’t care what you are. You’re not like what they told us Mages were, and Cullen cares for you, so I won’t say anything about it but be careful with him. I want my little brother brought back to me alive and unharmed, understand?”  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“And… do bring him back to me, would you? Preferably not naked in my lake next time but whatever blows your skirts up.”  
  
Arielle didn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up in her chest and burst in her throat, too delighted by his sister’s dry humor.  
  
“I’ll be sure to have him fully clothed and _dry_.”  
  
Mia kissed his face despite his playful protests, squeezing him in her arms with damp eyes. He had to take a moment to console her, gentle as ever, but he was humming as they walked away from his family home. Mia watched them go, standing at the gate with her hand to her heart, and Arielle couldn’t help but feel a little sad. Leaving always hurt, she supposed, but he seemed oddly at ease.  
  
“Too bad the rest of them weren’t there,” he mused.  
  
“Really? You wanted your entire family to see us naked and afraid?”  
  
“I… hadn’t thought of that-- no.”  
  
“Where were they all?”  
  
“Mia said the rest of my family is in South Reach, she stayed behind, I suppose I'm lucky she did.”  
  
“One day I want to live in a little stone cottage out in the woods with a garden and little green shutters.” She said as they passed a house on a hill. “No one will know who I am or ask me for things.”  
  
“Just find a clearing by a river or a lake and we’d be set. No soldiers to command and no war meetings to go to.”  
  
“I’d like to see you with a bow and arrow hunting.”  
  
“Who are you kidding? I’m getting a crossbow. My aim is terrible.”  
  
“Why doesn’t _that_ surprise me?”  
  
“I don’t like it when you do that.”  
  
Her laugh echoed between the buildings like church bells.

 

* * *

 

“Inquisitor,” Hawke was the first one to spot them when they entered Skyhold, standing in the courtyard with a tattooed elf. “Commander Noodlehead.” She greeted him without missing a beat.  
  
Arielle busted out laughing at the horrified expression on Cullen’s face and the elf that had been standing with Hawke nearly trembled with barely contained laughter.  
  
“I was wondering when I’d see you,” he ground out.  
  
“Yes seems you were quite absent when I arrived,” Andy folded her arms over her chest. “I’m sad you didn’t come see me earlier.”  
  
“Perhaps I simply avoided the unfortunate nickname you’ve given me. Hello Fenris,” he greeted and the warrior released a burst of air, still trying not to laugh.  
  
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be such a noodlehead,” she said petulantly but couldn’t stop the snicker above a fresh peal of barely audible laughter that shook the Inquisitor. Arielle was doubled over, held up by her hand on Cullen’s scabbard.  
  
“I… this is so childish.”  
  
“I know, it’s so much fun to watch you squirm.” Finally the elf made a sound, hand over his face, and Hawke had to fight down the whimper of a cackle in her throat.  
  
“Yes haha you’re all very funny. Inquisitor please, you’re going to take my pants with you in your inevitable descent to the dirt.”  
  
“It was… just such a surprise…” Arielle seemed to get a hold of herself and he pulled her back to standing with one arm, but her face was still damp and her shoulders trembled each time she looked at him.  
  
“You encourage this sort of behavior and eventually everyone’s going to call me… _that._ ”  
  
“Commander Noodlehead.” Hawk added for him.  
  
“This is ridiculous. Since you’re back there are plans to be made and maps to read and things to do that involve being anywhere but standing in the courtyard being humiliated.” He waved his hand at them and started off up the stairs, but he did smile a little when he made eye contact with Arielle on his way up.  
  
“He’s oh so fun to tease,” Hawke smiled pleasantly. “So serious. Inquisitor have you met Fenris?”  
  
“No, the pleasure is mine,” she nodded. “Are you joining us?”  
  
“I’m afraid not. I’ll be leaving here shortly as per Hawke’s orders.” He shook his head.  
  
“I’ll see you before you go?” Hawke’s face softened beneath her short bangs.  
  
“Of course. I’ll wait until you get out of your meeting.” He let them pass.  
  
“So I take it you’ve found out where we’re going?”  
  
“Adamant Fortress, an old Warden stronghold.”  
  
“Sounds… challenging.”

  

* * *

  

Challenging wasn’t even the half of it.  
  
“Let me get this straight… so our plan is to lay siege to a legendary fortress filled with demons?”  
  
Cullen’s tired eyes flickered with humor, “That’s the just of it. It’ll be hard-fought but there’s no way around it.”  
  
She wasn’t sure she liked any of it, honestly, watching the soldiers prepare. She leaned over the parapet, seeing Hawke and Fenris standing so close she was certain their armor was touching. She was likely too romantic for her own good, sighing a little sadly when they kissed goodbye and he caught her face to kiss her again before she drew away.  
  
“Tragic isn’t it?” Cassandra leaned against the stone beside her. “I never liked the idea of going off to war and leaving someone behind.”  
  
“You and me both…” Arielle pushed off the stone. “How do you feel about this?”  
  
“A castle full of demons and Grey Wardens? Sounds like fun.”  
  
“You would think so.”  
  
“What? I’m very good at my job, Inquisitor.”  
  
“I know you are,” Arielle smiled. “I wouldn’t have anyone else by my side.”  
  
“You flatter me.”  
  
“Cassandra have you seen my sister anywhere?”  
  
“No but I hear she’s been quite useful. She’s been running errands for Josephine and Cullen, quite the warmind.”  
  
“Yes well my father raised us on battle plans and ancient history.”  
  
“Have you spoken to her yet?”  
  
“I don’t know if I would… have any idea what to say to her…”  
  
“Avoiding the problem… seems unlike you.”  
  
“No it seems unlike _you._ I know exactly what you’d do... You’d charge over there and tell her how you felt and never look back.” Cassandra’s face softened into sadness.  
  
“Losing a sibling…” her voice shattered around the words. “Don’t let fear keep you from telling her what she needs to hear, or from hearing what she has to say.”  
  
Arielle watched her pull herself back together, obviously still pained from her experience, “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t apologize. It is something I must live with. I would prefer not to have a repeat of the same in _your_ life.”  
  
“Gavin…” she murmured his name. “He’s fine… out there somewhere surviving… I’m sure of it.”  
  
“Can you be sure?”  
  
“No, of course not,” Arielle bound her braid and pinned it into place. “Let’s get our horses. We’re riding soon.”  
  
“Arielle you have become quite the leader since I met you in Haven,” she said it as if she didn’t say it now the words may never reach her Inquisitor. “I have a great respect for you.”  
  
Arielle looked at her, surprised, “And I for you, Cassandra.”  
  
“Anything I said before… I’m glad you are the one who leads us.”  
  
“Cullen _leads_ you I just tell him what to do,” Arielle countered the compliment, unused to Cassandra’s confession.  
  
“Regardless of the chain of command… it is you that I answer to and you alone.”  
  
“Heavy burden,” Arielle’s shoulders sagged.  
  
“But you carry the weight like an ancient goddess of war: with grace and determination that lights the path for all those who follow. One day they will swear you _were_ a warrior goddess.”  
  
“And the bards will write songs about my humor, yes?”  
  
“Indeed,” Cassandra sighed and Arielle laughed. “If you don’t write one first. You think you’re as funny as Dorian thinks he’s handsome.”  
  
“Oh don’t be cruel. I’m much funnier than Dorian is handsome,” she cackled. 

“He’ll break a mirror hearing you say that,” Cassandra couldn’t help but bark a laugh as well.

 

* * *

 

The first hit of the trebuchet made her flinch but she looked to Cullen for the okay, lip curled, and started forward with the rest of the Inquisition’s forces.  
  
She hadn’t expected to _feel_ the gate shatter beneath the weight of the battering ram but her heart nearly couldn’t handle the release of pressure, walking forward through the wood dust that now clogged the air, mingling with the smoke and the screams of dying soldiers. She protected their forces inside the walls, drawing her hand up as a Warden swung to strike, a seal forming and exploding beneath a demon that lunged for another.  
  
“All right, Inquisitor, you have your way in,” he stopped behind her and she turned. “Make use of it.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“We’ll keep the main host occupied for as long as we can.”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” she told him, brows knitting. “Just keep the men safe… don’t take risks.”  
  
“We’ll do what we have to, Arielle.” He was a fully-fledged General now, face set and stoic, and there was a hard edge to his voice that made her blood rise. When his words returned to her he was making a request, “Our men can’t get a foothold. If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements we can cover your advance.”  
  
“I can do that,” she nodded sharply.  
  
“It would be our pleasure,” Dorian grinned.  
  
Cullen looked like he wanted to say more, but in the middle of a battle was not the place to do it. It was a hair’s breadth of a moment, the slightest crack in his warrior’s demeanor, and then it had gone and he acknowledged her before pulling his sword and heading back to his men.  
  
“We’ll bring her back safe, Commander!” Varric called after him as he retreated. “At least I damn sure hope so.”  
  
“Don’t sound so confident,” Cassandra told him.  
  
“Since when did you get so saucy?”  
  
“She’s always been this way, she’s just too caught up in making you look like an idiot to let you know it," Dorian told him.  
  
“I don’t need her help to make me look like an idiot.” Arielle started through the doors, smiling confidently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adamaaaaaant~ The rest of Adamant is up next chapter!
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.
> 
> Feel free to check out the new aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	14. Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear has no power here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the way this chapter turned out. Let me know what you think.
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.

“Get those trebuchets prepared!” Cullen strode between the ranks, in his element. War raged around him and his blood roared in his ears, confidence holding his spine tight and shoulders straight. Here there was no question of his authority, here his every decision changed lives.  
  
“Commander!” A soldier directed his attention to the battlements and he watched a Pride demon stagger back from a bright blast of flame that mimicked the hot flash of certainty that it was Arielle. Sure enough, if he focused, he could see her movements in time with Dorian’s and could nearly _hear_ her giving orders as Cassandra flooded past them against a rain of bolts. Ice cascaded up the demon’s body and froze it, the body shattering with Cassandra’s blow.  
  
“Get our soldiers up those ladders!” He directed, a rush high in his head just from watching.  
  
“Commander the right flank is falling,” Blackwall appeared at his elbow, voice gruff.  
  
“I’m on my way, keep these sappers pushing,” he pulled his sword and dove for the flanks. “You! With me!” He directed a captain from the back, leading them to where they hurt most.  
  
“Good to see you Commander,” he heard a familiar voice and his heart dropped. “Glad you could join us.”  
  
Lisette, in scout armor with a pair of the most beautiful daggers he’d ever seen, cut through the throat of a Mage with a swift blow.  
  
“You were supposed to be in the ranks with the others.”  
  
“I’m trying to get up that ladder,” she twirled a blade to kill the demon that had come up behind her but he moved first and she ducked low, letting him rend its head.  
  
“You will be doing no such thing!”  
  
“I want to help!”  
  
“You can help by…” there were bloodstains on her armor, sweat and grime clinging to her features, and respect built in his chest. He could understand not wanting to stand by and wait for the battle to be over, wanting to join the soldiers and help if only for a moment, how could he ask her to stand by and do nothing? “If you die your sister will never forgive me!”  
  
“I won’t die!” He shoved her out of the way of a boulder, the two of them so concerned with arguing he almost didn’t notice it before it landed on them. “Cor… thanks.”  
  
“I need to help my men.”  
  
“Then do it, don’t worry about me,” she told him.  
  
“Is this stubbornness a Trevelyan trait?” He didn’t like the smirk she gave him before vanishing into the fray again. He directed soldiers to protect the base of the ladders, looking up to another Pride demon whose whip lashed down at those who would dare to climb. “Come on Arielle…”

 

* * *

 

“I’VE GOT IT!” Arielle slid between the demon’s legs, placing a rune beneath it. She had to tumble back to her feet, nearly slipping off the battlements with her speed.  
  
“He’s staggered!” Varric’s bolt hit the demon’s eye and cracked its armor as Dorian’s barrage made its target.  
  
“Time to try this baby out…” Arielle spun the blade hilt in her hand. “Now! Cassandra!” Arielle ran, leaping off the Seeker’s shield with her boost. A blade formed in her hand and she landed it squarely in the demon’s neck to whoops and cheers from the Wardens and her companions, tearing its head off its shoulders. “ _GOOD_ BYE!” She said fiercely, pushing off and landing next to Dorian. Their bracers clacked and Cassandra signalled the okay to the troops below.  
  
“Very impressive, I thought the Knight-Enchanter skills were lost to the history books,” Dorian examined the spirit blade. “This was what you were working on, then?”  
  
“Fancy isn’t it?”  
  
“Oh very,” he agreed. “We’ve got one more demon left.” He looked to the last ladder.  
  
“I can take care of that,” Arielle’s hand sparked with energy.

“Let’s get going, then,” Varric followed her with a grin.  
  
“Take down its armor and I can send it back to the Fade, no need to fight something we can simply destroy.”  
  
“As you wish,” Dorian ran after them.

 

* * *

  

He heard the screech before he saw it and a droplet of fear broke the placid surface of his mind like a chime in an otherwise silent night, breaking his concentration. He wasn’t sure if he had yelled it first, or he was hearing someone else’s voice, because when the cry of ‘ _DRAGON’_ rose he was giving orders as quickly as he could, racing through the ranks.  
  
He didn’t expect the beast to pass over them, flames licking at their heads, and this time dread poured over him like a freezing spell.

 _Arielle_.  
  
There was only one reason for the archdemon to be here and it was Arielle. She had barely come out alive before, in fact he was certain he had lost her that time, and he couldn’t let fear leaden his body.  
  
“Get those blasted trebuchets loaded!” He felt like he had to shake them all to break the spell the dragon had cast over them. “Maferath’s _balls_ ,” he grabbed a scout and directed her to the other platoons, glancing up when Solas and Blackwall made their appearance known. “Head into the fortress, we need to give her all the backup we can.”  
  
“We’re on it,” Blackwall nodded and started off.  
  
“We won’t defeat that archdemon,” Solas said patiently.  
  
“Aren’t you cheery?”  
  
“It would be best to avoid it, without its master here we won’t be able to defeat it.”  
  
“I can’t just--” Panic had begun to set in. “We’ll lose the Inquisitor!”  
  
“If we must. We cannot lose our forces as well.”  
  
There was no way out this time. He could see the dragon’s flames licking the walls of the fortress, chasing figures he knew had to be their infiltration team. The pure white glow of her staff at the lead. He could see the flash, like sunlight through a diamond, of her casting and hesitated yet again.  
  
“No…” He had told her he trusted her once before. He had told her that her decisions were hers to live with and she had said the same to him. He also knew that the Inquisition would do what it had to in order to make sure they succeeded. “Forward!” He rallied them, much to Solas’ apparent displeasure, sword high in the air.

They would buy her time if they could.

 

* * *

   

“Inquisitor!” Dorian caught her arm and yanked her back out of the way of the dragon’s flames, casting a ward to protect the party. “We have to find Clarel.”  
  
“We will!” She panted hard, ribs tight and aching, and drank from the offered flask. Lyrium tasted sweet in her mouth, like water over a parched tongue, and poured down her throat like honey. She closed her eyes, feeling her magic stores replenish, and rose again, starting off across the balcony with the others close behind her.  
  
“That stuff’s like candy to you two, I almost wish I could have some,” Varric joked.  
  
“We have water for you poor normal people,” Dorian consoled.  
  
Arielle turned the corner and summoned a blizzard, freezing the Rage demons in their place for Cassandra’s blade and Varric’s bolts to shatter. She summoned her sword to cut down the Mages who had so foolishly been allowed to destroy themselves, moving between them fluidly and leaving only ice behind.  
  
They were a deluge, an unbreakable wall of power and strength, that swept into the fortress and wiped clean the slate. Rain was often thought to make pure but it was the flood that shook towers and swallowed the dead and Arielle was nothing less than a tidal wave.

“Arielle!” Hawke said her name, urging her to move as the archdemon returned, but she was caught between demons as her rune formed beneath her feet.  
  
Cassandra didn’t need to think, looking between her Herald and the dragon. She hooked her shield over her elbow and ran, the dragon’s head crashing against her shield as she tackled the Inquisitor to the side, both rolling.

Lightning struck the dragon’s head and it drew away, several crossbow bolts lodging deep into the throat and silencing the flames for a brief moment. Electricity hung in the air, crackling and bright, as Arielle staggered to her feet, offering a hand to Cassandra.  
  
“Are you alright?” She noticed the way her Seeker shifted the weight of her shield, removing it almost gingerly.  
  
“Yes I’m fine, Inquisitor.”  
  
She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it. Not with how her usually ruddy complexion had paled, not with how carefully the Seeker adjusted her arm against her side.  
  
“Let Dorian heal you.”  
  
“We don’t have time!” Cassandra shook her head. “Go!”  
  
Arielle hesitated, regret filling her heart, if she had paid more attention Cassandra wouldn't have been in pain.  
  
“No time to linger,” Stroud pushed them forward.

 

* * *

  

The fall.

She had never heard silence like that before, had never felt such peace as the moment the cavern swallowed them up. For a moment she almost gave herself over to it, to the understanding that she would die at the bottom of a dark ravine. 

There was calm in that thought: in the inevitable.

A light sparked in the darkness against all odds, a shard of hope that shone green and bright against shadow and she opened her eyes. Sound returned to her and she reached out her hand, pouring her strength into the mark and passed them through.  
  
Their momentum slowed, her stomach sliding back into place, and she felt the world turn upside down.  
  
 _If I touch the ground… will I fall again?_

She extended her fingers, hand trembling to break the barrier that held her aloft.

 

* * *

 

Cullen watched, mouth agape, as half the castle was swallowed by a massive rift that closed immediately afterward, devouring up whoever had been on the bridge.

“Don’t stop! That thing might come back!” He commanded the sappers, looking back to where the rift had vanished. He knew there was only one person who could open and close rifts with such ease, and that thought gave him peace of mind.

 _She’s alive._  
  
He moved between soldiers, greeting the Wardens that joined their camp, and reorganizing the ranks with their captains. The battle was still raging inside the castle walls and in the approach, but without the dragon’s frenzy he could take count of all that they had lost.  
  
And pray it wasn’t as much as he feared.

 

* * *

  

Her will fractured and she hit the ground hard; the weight of her limbs returning from weightlessness. She didn’t move, eyes closed against the fine sands beneath her, and wondered when the sound of her heartbeat in the silence would return. This place felt familiar, like a long forgotten taste at the back of her throat, prompted by an ancient memory of which remained only smears of color and light across a shattered canvas.

The air around her was thick with magic; the bitter scent of the Fade invading her senses until the last piece of the real world was chased from her very being. She wondered, for a moment, if she was even breathing anymore, if the air from her lungs had been stolen and replaced with mana.

The finest sliver of apprehension speared her thoughts and embedded there, her fingers curling into the dirt.  
  
 _Am I alive?_  
  
“Inquisitor!” Cassandra’s voice swam and she finally opened her eyes, damp air filling her lungs.  
  
“There she is,” she looked up to see Dorian crouched over her, magic swirling around his fingers and a smile on his face. “Quite the fall, yes?”  
  
“Where is this place?” Arielle looked up at a voice to see Hawke standing sideways on a rock formation, sitting up on her knees.  
  
“All things considered it’s probably the Fade,” Varric turning cautiously. “Is it?”  
  
All eyes were on her and the desire for an answer crushed her. Thankfully Dorian’s offered hand gave her a brief respite. She looked around, the same nostalgic feeling rushing over her and numbing her limbs to everything but the pain of the Anchor in her hand.  
  
“I don’t… remember…” She was glad when the tension broke and a conversation began, but Cassandra’s eyes were still on her.  
  
She was glad to have them there. Alone she might not have made it. Alone she wouldn’t have trusted the spirit of Justinia or collected the shards of her memories… alone she might not have survived the truth.  
  
She didn’t have time to fear the Nightmare or his minions, all she could think of was getting back to the real world and stopping the attacks… and it was that thought that kept her moving despite her leaden legs and stifled thoughts.  
  
Her companions had kept her head clear with their jokes and easy banter, though it was likely just as much for them as it was for her, and the relief she felt when the creature that blocked their path was defeated… for the moment.  
  
“The Monster!” Hawke drew her attention. “We can’t all make it.”  
  
“What?” Arielle’s face broke. “Of course we can!”  
  
“Someone will need to stay back and distract it,” Stroud said. “I volunteer.”  
  
“No! Someone must lead the Wardens!” Andy threw her arm out. “I will stay. Corypheus is my responsibility.”  
  
She looked between them and wished, for a moment, for the amulet that Alexius had held… for the chance to save both…  
  
“I could…”  
  
“Inquisitor!” Dorian’s barrier was waning and he poured more power into it to keep them safe. “You must make a decision!”  
  
Memories clawed their way to the front of her mind: She had sighed sadly when they kissed goodbye, when he caught her face to kiss her again. _“Tragic isn’t it?”_ Cassandra had leaned against the stone beside her. _“I never liked the idea of going off to war and leaving someone behind.”_

“I will stay,” Stroud said again, with ferocity in his voice. “I will stay and cover your backs one last time.”  
  
“Stroud!” Varric scolded him.  
  
“Stroud.” Arielle said his name finally and he saluted her with a fist to his heart.  
  
“It was an honor to know you, Inquisitor, and an honor to fight by your side.”  
  
“The honor is mine, I can assure you,” Arielle said softly.  
  
“For the Wardens!” His voice circled the drain as they turned, running for the Rift, and Arielle heard Hawke sob from beside her, turning her face to the cool air of Adamant fortress.

 

* * *

  

She could sense the disapproval from her companions upon accepting the Wardens into their fold, but it hadn’t seemed right -- nothing that had happened was their fault, it was a horrible and unfortunate mistake brought on by villainy. They emerged from Adamant to cheers and whoops of success from all those who had survived or been saved… but all she felt was emptiness.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra greeted her. She had moved out more quickly, not stopped by hand shaking and bowing as Arielle had been. “Did you see Cullen on your way here?”  
  
“Cullen?” She might have cried then, already devastated by the loss of a friend, were it not for Dorian catching her elbow and holding her up, as he often did. Living with her decisions was the hardest choice she had ever made.  
  
“Yes the Commander was out helping one of our platoons during the secondary collapse,” a Captain said.  
  
“What secondary collapse?” Dorian spoke for her as Arielle collected her heart around the sword she was certain was protruding from her chest.  
  
“After you… the Rift made the area unstable! Part of the walls collapsed.”  
  
“Maker no… Where?” Arielle spun and looked to where they had vanished.  
  
“That way but--”

She didn’t hear Cassandra call her name. After everything that had happened… after all the sacrifices… after the _Truth_ had been revealed… she couldn’t lose him too.

Still covered in blood and Fade grime, her own wounds aching, she made her way between the bodies of the dying and the dead. She could hear nothing as she looked around, casting a tracking spell to find which bodies were still living. Blood was everywhere, armor glinting in the early morning light, and it all felt like a nightmare.  
  
How could she escape one only to enter another?

“Cullen!”  
  
“Over here,” Dorian called to her and her heart dropped into her stomach. She was at his side with a burst of icy air, giving a dry sob at Cullen’s blood soaked face. Trepidation clawed at her like sharp talons through old wool and she fell to her knees.  
  
“Cullen? Cullen can you hear me?” She summoned frost around her hand, cooling his face.

 _Maker please…_ she prayed he would stir, that her shaking hands would still. If she truly was blessed… if everything that had happened was divine intervention and not an accident… the Maker surely couldn’t take him from her.  
  
“Cullen!” Tears dripped from her eyes, the sound thick and heavy like the first drops of a storm against his plate.  
  
“Whozzat?” His eyes fluttered open and hot relief flooded her veins, a balking laugh harsh against the knot in her throat. “Are you a Medic?”  
  
“Can you move?” She ignored his bizarre question and helped him sit up.  
  
“You are so lovely,” Cullen said blankly, not resisting when Dorian checked the wound on his face.

“Why thank you,” Dorian said playfully.

“Have we met? Surely I’d remember someone as beautiful as you,” Cullen paid him no mind.

"What's wrong with him, Dorian?” She couldn’t help the sob that rolled into a laugh, the solace of his survival in her blood as potent as wine.

"Just a light head wound, bleeds a lot, he'll be okay." He reassured, helping her pull Cullen to his feet.

"He's covered in blood!" She took a look at his stupefied expression and found it slightly unnerving.

"Like I said! Bleeds a lot!"

“Who are you? What’s your name?” He persisted.  
  
“My name is Arielle, I’m the Inquisitor, remember?”

"You really are... very beautiful…"

"You hit your head bloody _hard_ ," Arielle pulled his arm around her shoulders.

"She's your wife, Cullen." Dorian teased, helping him limp towards the camp.

"My wife?! I'm married?!" He sounded startled. "I'm so lucky... wow you're so beautiful..."

" _Dorian_."  
  
“I hit the jackpot…” Cullen was still in dumbstruck wonderment, reaching over to touch her face.  
  
“I’m not your wife, I can assure you.”

“But you’re sharing her bed.” 

“ _Dorian Pavus_.” He cackled the rest of the way to the camp.

She was glad for the relief, for the easy sound of his laugh, looking up to see Cassandra watching them with kindness in her face and Iron Bull beside her, toting a grin fresh from battle. Everywhere she looked she could see her collected companions helping the wounded and the dying: Vivienne was healing with Solas, Blackwall and Krem were giving directions to the troops in Cullen’s absence, even Sera’s face was serious as she helped Cole. 

Dorian had once called her a bulwark against their inevitable end… but she was certain that without him, without her friends, she would have been washed away with the rest.   
  
"Arielle."  
  
She looked where the voice had come from, letting Dorian help Cullen to the medical tent, and lingered in place. Here and now was not the time for the words that burned in her chest, or the tears that seared her eyes, but that didn't stop them. She tried to ignore the blood on her sister's armor or the way she clutched her side or the hitch in her breathing. The moment shattered when Lisette spoke again.  
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
She had never heard sweeter words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**. And look at these awesome [deleted scenes](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.tumblr.com/post/104441064534/for-fucks-sake-outtakes).
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!
> 
> Feel free to check out the aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	15. O! never say that I was false of heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doubts and a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was alternately sad and fun to write.
> 
> [Art by the lovely freyleif for this chapter!](http://freyleif.tumblr.com/post/106005261986/the-wolf-whistles-and-cheers-came-from-every-edge)

The camp was alive that night with celebrations of a successful battle and toasts to the lost. Arielle, however, sat in her tent, toying with the bandages on her hands, thoughts heavy and shoulders sagging. She couldn’t celebrate, not yet.

Cassandra had come in to see her with her arm in a sling, sitting beside the Inquisitor in humble silence for a good part of the day. If Cullen was what kept her afloat it was Cassandra Pentaghast that they were moored against, faith everlasting and power embodied. She leaned against the Seeker, closing her eyes against the dying sun that burned red and orange against her eyelids and warmed the skin of her face in the cool desert air.  
  
“I prayed for him,” Cassandra said finally. “I will pray for him again. I pray for you, as well, that you will come through this. You are our only hope.”  
  
“Do you really think that? Even after…”  
  
“After what? All I learned in the Fade is that the Maker works in mysterious ways… ah wait that is something I already knew.”  
  
“Was that sarcasm, Cassandra Pentaghast?” She tried for a smile.  
  
“For once you take my meaning. Do not think my faith in _you_ has been shaken. Perhaps it was not Andraste that placed that mark upon your hand but it is by no means a _mistake_.”  
  
Cassandra was a woman who did not mince words, she wouldn’t say something she didn’t believe with all her faith and stubborn nature.  
  
“Rest, Inquisitor, because tomorrow and the next will be as bad as this one… but we will survive.” She had pressed a kiss to Arielle’s brow, a comfort for both of them, and the brief falling of the barrier Cassandra had built around herself lifted some of the weight.  
  
A voice drew her from her thoughts, “Arielle?” She looked up to see her sister in the mouth of the tent, gesturing her in and straightening up. “Are you al-- of course you’re not alright.” Arielle moved quietly to let Lisette sit beside her. “Are you not going to speak to me?”  
  
She had barely spoken before, and yet again the urge to speak failed her, so she said nothing and waited for her sister to continue.  
  
“It’s… quite a party out there.” Lisette said softly, stroking her long hair gently. “When we were little you used to hate your hair being loose like this. You used to beg me to braid it for you.”  
  
The ghost of a smile flit across her face but was quickly swallowed by melancholy again.  
  
“You made a hard decision today… I don’t know if I could have made it…” she sighed. “But don’t beat yourself up about it, Ellie. I… know I’m not one to talk. I resented you, you know? Maybe it was something that lingered inside of me from when we were children? Maybe it was just… stupid misplaced anger at my situation… I thought that if I had been at the Circle then I wouldn’t have had to deal with Mum dying and Papá being sick… I suppose I never considered what it was like for you. It’s hard, when you’re young, to look at things from the other side. It’s hard, even when you’re an adult, to see how things play out… maybe harder because… you’ve grown up only seeing what _you_ have to deal with.”  
  
Arielle lifted her hand, letting it linger over Lisette’s before her sister caught it and wound their fingers together.  
  
“I missed you. I missed you terribly. I felt awful about what happened. It wasn’t… fair… but nothing is fair is it? It’s not fair to have to be shuttled off to a tower somewhere just because of an accident of birth. It’s not fair to have to suddenly take over the household and watch your family crumble around you. It’s not fair that I… blamed you for not writing. I could have sent the letters I wrote. Every time I thought about it I would just fold them up and keep them because… I was so angry with you… or with myself…”  
  
The Inquisitor still didn’t speak, reaching up with her other hand to touch her sister’s face and let her rest her head against her shoulder.  
  
“It’s not fair that you… have to make all these decisions… that you have to bear that weight alone…”  
  
The thought that she was being guided by a Maker, the thought that she was being led down a path, that her decisions were somehow ordained… those things had given her comfort. Now, watching Stroud die, she felt only emptiness.  
  
“Arielle… you didn’t cause this...” Lisette’s face softened. “He chose his death, and it was an honorable one; Grandfather would call that a win... you didn’t send him to his death, Ellie.”  
  
Peace… in the inevitable. She remembered feeling that way during her fall, feeling as though what faced her below was the embrace of calm and quiet. She wondered if Stroud had felt that way in his last moments… if he was at peace with his choice… or if he had held onto regrets with his last breath. She wondered if trepidation had filled him when he realized he’d given his life for a false prophet.  
  
“Oh my sweet girl…” Lisette must have seen something in her eyes, pulling her into her arms. Arielle softened into her embrace, burying her face against Lisette’s shoulder. She was safe and warm here, enveloped in the familiar scents of her sister’s hair and perfume. “I’m… so sorry… I wish there was something I could say… something I could do…”  
  
Every decision she made was a thread on the edge of a sword in a shaking hand… one wrong move could end everything. Lives hung in the balance, decisive movement held them aloft, and she had no way of knowing what consequences hesitance would provoke. And now, with this revelation, there was no guide that held her wrist steady.  
  
“It’s really a thankless job you have,” Lisette’s voice dampened, false hope vanishing in the fading light. “All these heroes… they have their moment of glory and they save a million lives but in the end what do they get? Scars and battered bodies and broken souls. They throw you parties and celebrate your wins but they don’t know…”  
  
Arielle blinked when her sister rose, walking to the mouth of the tent.  
  
“But _these_ people? These are the people who will tell the real stories. They’ll tell the stories of their fellow soldiers, of you, of Cullen, of Cassandra… these are the people who celebrate _you_ and not just your success… because in the end you haven’t accomplished anything yet, have you? You’ve closed a hole in the sky and defeated an army of demons… but what have you _accomplished_? These people know. They know how every movement forward is a battle hard-won. Listen… they’re already singing songs of Warden Stroud’s bravery, they’re already calling him _hero_. Maybe you weren’t chosen by _divine intervention_ but you were chosen by _them._ ”  
  
Her limbs felt heavy, senses dull, but she pulled herself to her feet anyway, walking over to curl her arm around the supporting pole of her tent.  
  
“These people, Arielle, are the ones who don’t celebrate lightly. I know, I’ve fought beside them and I’ve learned beside them... They love you. They don’t know you but they love you. They don’t give their lives for some nameless cause, for some indeterminate end, they give their lives for _you_. For the _idea_ of you. They don’t need a spirit to tell them you’ve been chosen. They chose you.”  
  
She rested her cheek against the pole, watching the dancers around the bonfire laugh and jest against the heat of the flames.  
  
“More than one person died today,” Lisette told her. “And they died in the name of the Inquisition because you led them… but so many more survived and so many more _will_ survive because of you.

“I promised him I would live with my decisions,” she murmured, remembering the feel of Cullen’s hands on hers all those months ago. “But I had thought…”  
  
“Arielle your faith may have been shaken today, and maybe that faith had been misguided or warped because of the way people put you on a pedestal… but your decisions are still yours. You are _still_ leading. You are the one these people will follow into the depths of hell and back. As much as I care for Cullen, as much as I enjoy the company of your advisors, I know and they know that this--” she gestured her hand “-- would never have happened without you.”  
  
“Lettie if you died… right now… would you have any regrets?”  
  
“I think I would regret not making you dance,” Lisette caught her wrist and pulled her from the pole.  
  
Arielle gave in, letting her sister pull her to the bonfire. For a moment a strange quiet fell over the soldiers, though the music still played, until Arielle fell into step with her sister and they moved with the others.  
  
“Lettie I…”  
  
“Lettie I what?” Lisette’s eyes twinkled. “You can’t always be worried about regrets, Arielle.” She twirled her, drawing a half smile onto the Inquisitor’s face.  
  
“I would regret… not telling you how sorry I am.”  
  
“Please… just… next time you want to break out of a Circle filled with Templars let me know? What’s your sister for if not breaking you out of mage jail?”  
  
Arielle felt some of the cloud lift, throwing her head back and letting Lisette whirl her in a circle, passing her off to another dancer against her own laughter. Some of the turmoil had settled finally, something good had come of this hell of a day.

She could laugh more easily here, could feel at peace in the noise of the celebration. Lisette was right. It didn’t matter if there was some invisible being guiding her. She would lead them to victory regardless… she didn’t need a Maker to tell her that what she was doing was right. Or that she had made the right decision. The dark thoughts that had held her captive were far away and the gloom that had clung to her very soul passed with each link of her arm in another, with each greeting from soldiers who had never expected her to join them.  
  
“Inquisitor!” She linked arms with Dorian, letting him pull her into the dance with easy grace and an easier smile. “Thought you’d never join us.”  
  
“I was… sulking…” she answered honestly.  
  
“Nothing wrong with mourning a loss,” he dipped her and she swung a leg up, laughing at his overly exaggerated motion. “It’s good to hear your laugh again, though, it’s not a party until you’re there…”  
  
“Why, Dorian Pavus, are you becoming attached?”  
  
“I _would_ notice if you’re not there, that’s all I’ll say,” he grinned.  
  
“You’ve been drinking,” she told him.  
  
“ _More_ than a little,” he winked  
  
“Who got Cassandra to dance?” She spotted the Seeker with interest.  
  
“A hell of a lot of booze, you’ve missed half the party.”  
  
“I thought you said it wasn’t a party until I got here? So you’ve all just been preemptively drinking yourselves into a stupor.”  
  
“Ah that sounds about right,” he looked up from her face and passed her off to someone else, smirking.  
  
Her head spun lightly, “I’m sorry I…” She looked up to find Cullen, out of armor, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly. “I take it you know who I am.”  
  
“Yes I… was made aware of what a fool I made of myself…on multiple occasions.” He had been absolutely mortified when Dorian had told him, more so because of the malevolent grin the mage had plastered over his handsome face.  
  
“We’re… sort of standing where everyone is dancing…” she gestured.  
  
“Would you… I’m sure I’ll never live down the blow to the head… I suppose it can’t make it any worse to show them my terrible dancing skills.”  
  
“You are _not_ a terrible dancer,” she hovered her fingers over the wound on his head, held tight with several butterfly bandages. “Another scar for another story.” She curled her hand into his collar and led him into the line.  
  
“Yes, great, because _I was brutalized by a rock_ is a great war story,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, eyes lingering on hers. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Everyone keeps asking me that, do I look like hell or something?” She felt his fingers brush over the bandages on her hands and her face softened. “I’m recovering.” She chuckled when he looked down, foot brushing hers. “Don’t look down, Cullen.”  
  
“I… Dorian said…”  
  
“ _Dorian_?” Delight spilled into her voice. “You’ve been practicing dancing with Dorian!?”  
  
“I _haven’t_ ,” he tried to defend himself weakly. “I was just… he gave me…” he caved under her knowing grin. “I didn’t want a repeat of the ball…”  
  
Affection burst hot and sweet in her chest and ate away the last dregs of fear, slowing their pace with the bard’s singing. He seemed to relax after that, eyes on hers, bodies close and comfortable.  
  
“Try not to scare me like that again, alright?” Arielle murmured, their foreheads brushing.  
  
“I will attempt to ward off any wayward boulders next time,” he quirked a smile. “I knew you’d come back.”  
  
“Did you?”  
  
“I trusted you, I knew you would find a way.” He said almost fiercely, as if his faith had been tested and tempered, as if he knew what had transpired in the Fade.  
  
Another flame of affection, this time brighter and stronger than the first one, swallowed her and nearly left her breathless. She couldn’t even laugh off the seriousness of her emotions, couldn’t push back the raw power of it.  
  
She lifted her head in surprise to see Varric raising his mead. “To the Inquisitor!” The roar of the crowd around them was thunderous but Cullen’s hand didn’t leave her waist.  
  
“Commander Cullen!” Dorian’s voice joined next and the crowd followed suit.  
  
“ _Kiss!_ ” Sera called.  
  
“Yes kiss!” Iron Bull lifted his hands and the Chargers howled, the rest of the Inquisition following suit.  
  
“KISS HER!!” Dorian lifted his drink.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arielle flushed, waving him off and looking up at Cullen, seeing him shuffle awkwardly.  
  
“Kiss him!” She couldn’t help but pull him down and kiss him softly, watching him stammer around protests almost shyly.  
  
“THAT’S NOT A KISS! KISS HER LIKE YOU WANT HER!” Bull banged his hand on the table and the others followed his lead.  
  
“Maker’s breath,” she laughed at his swear when she yanked him over, wrapping her arms around his neck. He tensed... but this kiss felt strangely awaited, as if they’d been holding back the relief of being alive, because he kissed her so hard she was chasing her breath back into his mouth.  
  
The wolf whistles and cheers came from every edge of the camp, and above it all: “YOUR VICTORS!” The cry of her companions that had the roar returning.  
  
She lingered another moment, fingers curling into his hair, and finally drew away. He gave a dumbstruck laugh, a little embarrassed but not displeased, and she stroked her thumb over the scar on his lip. She saw a light there that hadn’t been present when they’d first met, even if his eyes were still gray and tired. There was life there, more than just a determined will to live; the kind of shine that meant he had more to live for now… more to his desire than just survival.  
  
“Stroud…” she murmured and looked to her Inquisition. “To Stroud! The Hero of Adamant!” She raised her hand to draw their voices.

“THE HERO OF ADAMANT!” The hallowed echo of her words in the Inquisition was almost reverent, the salute this time a more somber one but no less enthusiastic.  
  
“TO STROUD!” The crowd hollered again and again until the air was thick and heavy with cries of the Warden’s name, cries that slowly faded into _THE INQUISITION_.  
  
She wasn’t sure when she had truly become the leader of this group, when she had inspired them so greatly as Lisette had told her, but in this moment… she felt it. She could feel them celebrating their own faith, reinforcing their belief in her, and their belief in what they were fighting for.  
  
They carved the path for her, and she for them, and they would march fearlessly down until the war had ended in a blaze of glory and faith.  
  
She looked up at Cullen, watching him glow at the praise of his men, and felt pride in him. He deserved the victory more than anyone else.  
  
“This is all because of you," he told her fondly. "You're aware of that right?" 

"You're all conspiring against me." Understanding gripped her heart, hard and warm like a coal of the bonfire they stood by.

"Cassandra..." He gestured to the Seeker who was carefully walking her way through the steps of a dance with Blackwall. The Warden seemed to take her criticism with a good-natured gruffness.  
  
“She… is going to be Divine one day… and she will be amazing.”  
  
“Among her council will be a former Templar, a mage from Tevinter, a few Wardens, a surface dwarf, a massive Qunari with a pain fetish, and the Inquisitor herself… to name a few.”  
  
“That’s why I think she’ll be so great. She’ll _listen_. She’ll have the voices of people who experienced the pain, people who _know_ what the Circles were like. The Templars could be reformed, lyrium could be erased from their practice. Everything could be better... mages could be treated like _people_ and Templars could be more than dogs."

“I feel like I hear political talk over here,” Iron Bull loomed over them. “But I might be mistaken.”

“Hello Bull,” Cullen smiled.  
  
“I apologize if I embarrassed you earlier, Krem informed me I might have overstepped my boundaries.” He ducked his head and Cullen waved it off.  
  
“It’s fine… it was… fun.” He looked to Arielle for confirmation and she laughed.  
  
“It was.”  
  
“Good. Shows ‘em you’re mortal. Both of you.” He bumped Cullen’s shoulder with his fist.  
  
“Yes well I am reminded of that every once in a while in the most unfortunate ways.”  
  


* * *

 

“You did well,” Lisette looked up at the Seeker that stood over her. “Thank you.”  
  
“I… thank you for letting me talk to her,” she smiled fondly. “I got some stuff off my chest.”  
  
“I think she feels better, you lifted that weight off her as well,” Cassandra sighed, sitting beside her.  
  
“Do you really believe my sister is _chosen_?”  
  
“Oddly… I do. Even though I’ve learned much from my time with her I have never been given any reason to doubt her. She is, without a doubt, the one meant for the Inquisition. As you said, if she was not chosen by fate then she has crafted her own from the ruins of her past.”  
  
“The Herald of Andraste, huh?” Lisette chuckled and drank from her mug. “She might be a Herald but I still remember her in diapers. Nothing gives me more pleasure than that.”  
  
Cassandra’s laugh had Lisette giggling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**. And look at these awesome [deleted scenes](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.tumblr.com/post/104441064534/for-fucks-sake-outtakes).
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.
> 
> Feel free to check out the aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	16. Though absence seemed my flame to qualify

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous porn ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay this was a lot harder to write than I wanted it to be but here it is and there I go.
> 
>  
> 
> **Here be porn. No joke. Like 3k of porn.**
> 
>  
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.

“Ryland’s men will monitor the situation.” She hadn’t seen him in days but when his eyes flickered up a feline grin sprawled across her lips. She’d snuck into his office, positioning herself to choke his escape, as if he would anymore.

“In the meantime we’ll send soldiers to…” He was forced to double take and this time her brows quirked up, running the pad of her thumb against the curve of her lip. “Assist… with the relief effort.”  
  
How long had it been since she’d had him? Months it felt like.  
  
She knew the moment images of the beautiful bed in Orlais flashed across the scout reports beneath his hands because his lips parted and she saw his tongue flick out to dampen them.  
  
“That will be all…” She smirked a little at the smoulder in his eyes, knowing his thinking wasn’t far from hers. She turned her body when she shut the door, bracing himself against it as if he might fall into it. “There’s always something more, isn’t there?”  
  
“Wishing we were somewhere else?” She asked and he laughed.  
  
“I barely found time to get away before,” he turned back to his desk, running his fingers over the wood. She listened, his words softer and more sincere than she had expected.  
  
“I won’t… want to move on… not from you…” his hand on her face melted her heart but she was too stunned to catch it as she normally would have. “But I… don’t know what you -- that is, if you, hmm…” he cast his eyes down and tried to retreat afraid of the rejection he seemed to be awaiting.  
  
“Cullen… do you even need to ask?” She slipped in front of him, smile sly. He loomed over her, face soft and curious as he backed her into the desk. She slid over the edge, letting him rest between her knees, tilting her chin up.  
  
“I suppose not,” the way his voice lowered made her breath hitch. “I--” her hand knocked a bottle and it clattered to the ground. She looked at it, then back at him, only to find an oddly considering look on his face as he hesitated almost nervously.  
  
“Cull--” he moved like lightning, shoving everything off his desk with one sweep of his arm, drawing laughter out of her. She worked her fingers at the clasps of his plate as he climbed onto the desk with her, swallowing her laughter with heated kisses that left her breathless.

She gasped at the pressure of his knee between her thighs, heavy and persistent, as he freed her from her tunic. He always seemed intent on devouring her, on pinning her down and wiping any thought from her mind. Her thoughts hiccupped when his mouth closed around one nipple, barely biting back the surprised moan.  
  
His skin was hot beneath her hands when they pulled his shirt away from him, scraping her nails over the muscle of his shoulders. If he’d been lucid enough to protest she was sure he would have provided one against the hard sucks and love bites that she left to darken against his shoulders and neck, but at the moment they only seemed to stoke his fervor.  
  
It was different to be worshipped by him, to have his gentle words of praise burned into her belly by the scrape of his beard and the nip of his teeth, because he kissed her scars and the curve of her ankle and teased his tongue over the edge of her knee and told her, without words, that she was _real_.

He shredded the shroud that surrounded her on a daily basis, destroyed the walls that others fashioned about her: Inquisitor, survivor, victor, Herald, Worship, _mage_. Words that had connotations and expectations and realities that she could do nothing to ward against. Words that swallowed her whole and recreated her in their image until even she was unsure of her own meaning.  
  
He flayed her open and consumed all she was and all she had been until the layers fell away and left the pounding of her heart in her ears and the pressure of his body over hers. Here, shoving him down to the desk and climbing onto him, she was nothing more than _Arielle_. Here she was whole, here the ever fraying rope that held her aloft was again made smooth, here she was greater than the sum of her _words._  
  
She didn’t stop the cry that clawed its way out of her throat, barely able to keep pace before his hands blanched against the firm muscle of her hips and she heard her name in the air and against her skin and in her bones. The torches in the brackets flickered, her emotions too high and heady to be controlled, and she heard him laugh breathily when she slumped onto the desktop beside him.  
  
“Please don’t burn my office down,” his words slid off his tongue like honey, heavy and thick.  
  
“Never,” she relished the kiss that came next; deep and slow and lingering. She wondered how long they could have remained there with his hand tangled in her hair and breaths shared between kisses as if oxygen was in short supply. “You can’t keep kissing me like this.” 

“I don’t know why not,” he propped himself up and slung an arm over her, bracing on his elbows.  
  
“I might not let you stop,” she smiled at his bashful scoff.  
  
For half a breath she felt the words on her tongue. For the briefest moment she nearly let them spill out and fill the room. He spoke, instead.  
  
“You must think highly of my stamina,” a flicker of uncertainty at his own self-deprecating humor had her cackling. “Why are you laughing?”  
  
“You’re a little worried?”  
  
“I am not!”  
  
“It’s very cute.”  
  
“You are a destroyer of moments, the Herald of romantic mood destruction. Stop your laughing!”  
  
“I’m naked on a _desk_ with the commander of the Inquisition who seems to be concerned about his... _performance_. I think I’ll laugh all I want.”

“I… oh bully for _you_ ,” his face softened, rolling his eyes before leaning down and attempting another silencing tactic.  
  
“You’re very fun to tease,” she said against his kisses and he gave a playful sound of disgust. “You like it and you know it.” She closed her eyes against the kiss he planted against the hollow of her throat.

He was always so intent on pleasing her, on making her forget her worries in the oblivion, and she was certain that if she didn’t resist he would do it all again. It wasn’t likely he would surrender easily to the idea of being deserving of attention, likely that he might protest, but the thought stuck like one of Sera’s arrows.  
  
“Cullen,” she tugged his head up and he looked sweetly curious.  
  
“What is it?” The narrowing of his eyes as she sat up made her giggle.  
  
“Don’t look so suspicious, _Commander_ ,” she lowered her voice and quite suddenly he was all ears, turning his head ever so slightly. “A change of venue is all I ask.” She scraped her nails against his navel, earning a low groan that settled low in her belly.  
  


* * *

 

He had agreed, though he wasn’t sure if he’d agreed because her hand was on his cock or because her lips and teeth had pressed close to his ear and wrapped around promises he was almost certain were illegal in most of Thedas.

It was probably a lust imbued combination of _both_.  
  
Pride, however, was at stake when he refused, quite staunchly, to leave the office in naught but his pants… not that his _pride_ was anything she concerned herself with. In fact she didn’t seem to mind his protests, though he was sure the ‘seized asset’ of his cowl was more than enough to cover her breasts as they rushed across the battlements towards the castle with her breathless laughter as their covering fire.  
  
He wondered if anyone looked up at that moment to see the Inquisitor sprinting across the viaduct with her commanding general at her heels, and what they must have looked like with her long blonde hair down and wild in the chilled winds and his bare chest silvered by the moonlight.

They passed through the wooden door and wove their way towards the throne room, stifling a giddy sort of laughter. She took the chance, while they avoided a guard in a dark corridor, to push him against the cold stone and kiss him until all he knew was the taste of her tongue and the sliver of her exposed skin pressed against his.  
  
The sound of their bare footsteps echoed against the stained glass of the Great Hall, the normally bustling room nearly reverent in its silence as they passed through. Her hair was cornsilk in the muted light, hanging in soft ringlets down her back and clinging to the fur of his cowl so delicately he scarcely believed she was real.

He saw her consider her throne, slowing in her steps, and made a quick decision.  
  
“Oh no,” he moved quickly and lifted her off her feet to carry her the rest of the way. “ _No_. Not there. Not ever.”  
  
“You’re unreasonable,” she murmured, her mouth warm against his ear.  
  
“I’m practical and I’m not making love on the Inquisitor’s _throne_.” He thanked the Maker once they were soundly inside her quarters, watching her run her fingers up the balustrade. “Is this the change of venue that you wanted?” He wasn’t going to say his eyes didn’t linger on the curve of her rear in the shadow of his cowl with each step she took.  
  
“Sit down, Commander,” she said softly, voice low, and the heat that had dissipated during their escape flared hot in his belly.  
  
“You brought me all this way to tell me to sit down?” He did as she asked, however, sitting on the edge of the bed with curiosity making his fingers itch. “Arielle…” She lifted a hand and the fire burst to life in the hearth.  
  
“Close your eyes and don’t move.”  
  
He hesitated to follow that order, but closed them regardless, shoulders tight with anticipation. It felt like centuries before she neared and when her lips touched his, soft and sweet, the contact wasn’t enough. He reached out to touch her on reaction; only to find chilled air in her wake.  
  
“Elle…”  
  
“Don’t move,” she said again, voice not far. “You trust me, don’t you?”  
  
“Is this going to require a safe word?” He tried to break his own tension but the silken tones of her voice when she spoke next only serve to stoke it.  
  
“Stay still,” her hands caught his face and she kissed him again, leaving the faintest chill behind in his mouth.  
  
He could taste magic on her tongue, feel the power of her mana stores against his resistant skin making every fresh touch of her mouth and her slender fingers exhilarating. She was casting, subtlely, to amplify his senses and she’d needed his guard down for it to work.  
  
“Magic,” a brief and sharp panic needled at his heart, the primal terror of being bewitched like ice in his veins.  
  
“I can stop if you want me to,” he could hear concern on her voice, leaning back on his elbows as her fingers pulled at his hastily tied breeches. The way his skin prickled beneath the chill of her breath on his chest had him shuddering, each pass of her tongue a stark, hot contrast that soothed his frayed nerves and melted the anxiety away.  
  
“This feels… somehow unethical,” he didn’t protest, voice catching in his throat when her teeth scraped over the cut of his hip.  
  
Before _her_ he would never have allowed it, before her he might have pushed back and broken her hold over him, but now he waited with his heart pounding and her lips against his navel: a hallowed monument to his trust in her.

“It’s only cheating if you get caught,” she murmured and pulled his pants down, nails scraping his thighs.  
  
“You’re wicked,” he pressed out.  
  
“You’re too selfless,” her fingers curled around him, unexpectedly slick, squeezing ever so gently as she slid her hand along his shaft.  
  
“I’m--” he had to clear his throat, eyes nearly fluttering. “Only with _you_ ,” he could hear the dip in his own tone, voice heavy with arousal.  
  
“I’m honored,” he picked up the amusement in her tone.  
  
“You always have to have the last--” He groaned aloud, startled when her tongue pressed against his head, cool and moist. He hadn’t realized how close her mouth had been, shuddering under the unfamiliar sensation.

She tightened her fingers around his base and he felt her narrow his perceptions, hips canting when she licked him from root to tip.

 _This_ was unexpected. _This_ being how carefully she monitored him, how every sound he made as she took him in her mouth seemed amplified and deadened at the same time, how his every want -- from the subtle pressure of her velvet tongue against his raphe to the slick twist of her fingers -- was delivered without a word.

He rutted into her mouth unconsciously, winding his hands into the sheets beneath him in an attempt to restrain himself, but her nails on his thigh had his fingers combing into her hair and fisting there. He lost himself, then, in the suction and heat of her; the tension in his shoulders shattering under her ministrations and leaving him weak and overheated.  
  
The soft sound of delight she made had his eyes fluttering open to find her watching him, wiping her mouth with a playful look on her face.  
  
“Cat who ate the canary,” he dropped his head back down. “Don’t make something of that,” he pointed in her general direction.  
  
“You know for all that Templar swagger you don’t last--”  
  
“You _cheated_.” He could hear his words slurring just slightly, and her giggle brushed his frayed nerves.  
  
“I did no such thing!” She sounded _almost_ offended.  
  
“You’re a liar and a cheat,” he cracked an eye to find her leaning next to him.  
  
“If I _hadn’t_ cheated we’d still be here for another hour and tomorrow I’d be doing all my errands with my jaw jammed open and dr--” she laughed when he caught her head and pulled her into a kiss to silence her.  
  
“You. Are a moment ruiner,” he told her seriously. He watched her lips part around some snarky comment but instead--  
  
“I love you.”  
  
The words hit him like a polearm: sharp and heavy on his chest, shattering his ribcage and stealing the air from his lungs. Whatever she said after that was lost in the blood rush as he sat up on his elbow, electricity on his skin.  
  
“I love you, too.” He was still dazed, cupping the side of her face in his hand as her thumb slid over the scar on his lip, a familiar motion now ingrained in his memory. “ _Maker_ how I love you…” Awestruck by the easy smile that spilled onto her face he let her pull him into a kiss, her mouth sweet and soft.

This was how it felt to win the war. It felt like glory and flame and bone-tiring exhaustion extinguished by the cool touches of her fingers and her mouth against his. In her he found the acceptance he had desired. In her he found pieces of his shattered self restored. In her he found _happiness_ , something he had once thought he did not deserve. 

If he had been broken before Arielle had handed him the pieces of himself and whispered that she loved each one as he put himself back together with trembling hands. She didn’t make him human, he already was human, but she guided him down the right path with gentle hands and an understanding that rivalled Andraste. She didn’t make him human but through her he had learned that he was _worthy_ of such a heavy burden, that he was worthy of love and affection and warmth and laughter.

He was still broken, he knew he would never be the man he had been a decade earlier, but he could be comfortable in his own skin for the first time since. She had given him the choice without question, had supported him with strength and endurance, she had given him a chance that not many would have, and an opportunity to grow and change.  
  
She had given him _normal_ again.

 

* * *

 

“Inquisitor!” She felt like every morning began with her title, as if she needed to be reminded of just exactly who she was or she might forget, though she supposed the servant that climbed the stairs of her quarters didn’t deserve her ire.  
  
“Do you ever get to sleep in?” Cullen asked, tucking an arm behind his head. He was, now, used to the constant bustle in and out of her rooms if she didn’t immediately appear in the throne room at daybreak.  
  
“Do you ever _sleep_?” Arielle answered, absently touching the quill from her bedside to her tongue and making a face. “There was ink on that,” she opened her hand for the offered papers, signing her name. “Thank you, Nerel.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Nerel glanced at the commander and he offered a mildly sarcastic smile. “Good morning, Commander. Is there anything I can get for you before I leave?”  
  
“Coffee, lots of it,” he said. 

“And ask Dorian for tea.”  
  
“You’ve been drinking a lot of lyrium lately,” Cullen watched Nerel go before his golden eyes had found the Inquisitor again.  
  
“Criticising my drug habits?”  
  
“With rest you shouldn’t be depleting as quickly as you are.”  
  
“Cullen, I don’t know that I asked you for your opinion.”  
  
Where usually he found an open acceptance of his comments, an easy smile and a soft rebuttal, he found her face shuttered and her eyes narrowed. The look faded but he felt her irritation as she climbed out of the bed and it irked him. He had barely made a comment.  
  
“Bloody _defensive_ ,” he said in an undertone, finding her eyes on him. He could see the fine lines around her eyes, ones that the red tattoo on her skin barely covered, that had not been there before. He took her face in as her emotion changed ever so subtly to understanding, curling his fingers around the hand that she offered.  
  
“I’m sorry it… when we’re not travelling I’m expending mana in training, when we’re travelling I’m fighting ninety percent of the time and draining at a faster rate than I can recover. The lyrium takes the edge off.”  
  
“You… don’t need to explain it to me,” he said softly. “I just worry about you.”

He liked the easy smile that pulled at her lips, feeling relief when she reached out to run her fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve told you before I don’t care about other people using lyrium. It’s a part of being a mage, there’s no escaping it.”  
  
“You say that but…”  
  
“Do you think my willpower so weak that I can’t watch you drink some tea every once in a while?”  
  
“I suppose not,” she chuckled. “I could be more conservative about it.”  
  
“Oh please. You could pour lyrium over my head and I’d be fine.”  
  
“Waste of good lyrium.”  
  
“I would say you could lick it off but I think we’d end up someplace weird.”  
  
She laughed, easy and deep, and it warmed him like mulled wine; all spices and liquor. She looked to the papers in her hand and he sat up, touching his lips to her shoulder and earning her hand to his cheek affectionately.

“I love you,” he said, voice low.  
  
“I love you, too,” she looked over her shoulder at him. This close he could see the lilac central ring of her iris that so often was overpowered by its darker counterpart. This close he could see her pupils dilate when her gaze fell on him. His mood was dampened only slightly when she turned her attention back to the papers, kissing her shoulders again. “That tickles!” She laughed. “Cull--” her voice died in her throat and fear clutched his heart.  
  
“Arielle?” He shifted closer.  
  
“Andraste’s _tits_. They found Gavin,” she turned to look at him, stunned.

He was almost certain that couldn’t be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**. And look at these awesome [deleted scenes](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/104564803179/so-originally-cullen-and-arielle-were-supposed-to).
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!
> 
> Feel free to check out the aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	17. As easy might I from my self depart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be the beginning of the serious stuff. Sorry it took so long.
> 
> There's a cute little aside over here called **[On Lucy and how she came to him.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2753102)** that explains the presence of Lucy in this chapter (definitely a cat and not a human).
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.

It took a moment for the sounds of the world around them to return to him, dazed at the news, “Where?”  
  
“I need to go find out,” she staggered into her pants, pulling her boots on. 

"What am I supposed to do?" He asked, now realizing that their flight to her quarters had involved little clothing and the cover of darkness.

"Do you want a cloaking spell?" She offered and he sighed, a mournful backdrop to her fastening her tunic in place.

"No I'll just stride out and hope nobody states." 

She laughed, "You really are nice to look at."

He flexed his bicep to hear her give a playful, " _Oooh_!"

"Very nice Commander," she caught his chin in her fingers and kissed him sweetly. "I'll see you in the war room." She squeezed his arm with a quirk of her eyebrow as she walked away, cackling.

"Arielle... The cloaking spell?" He asked a little more pitifully than he would have liked.

"Always," she winked.

 

* * *

  

“Lettie!” She caught her sister in her arms and whirled her around on the way to the War Room.

“I guess you got the message?” Lisette said.  
  
“Come to the meeting, we’ll discuss where we’ll be going!” Arielle smiled.

"Ellie am I allowed to go with you?"

"Of course! I think Dorian and Cassandra and Cole will be coming. Speak of the devil," she smirked.

Dorian was already inside the room, Cassandra stood across from him at the table -- staring down a piece on the map as if it might burst into flame.  
  
“Good morning, what are you two up to?”  
  
“Cassandra and I were discussing our plans to tear down the hierarchies of our homelands and burn them to the ground.”  
  
“Well that sounds like a normal night for you two. You can set it on fire and Cassandra can beat her head against it until it crumbles," Arielle chuckled.  
  
“Leliana will be here shortly, she’s the one that has Gavin’s location." Cassandra informed, pouring another cup of coffee. "How are you?"

"I'm well, really well actually," Arielle said brightly.

"I’m sure,” Dorian arched an eyebrow, sliding a teacup towards her.

There was a moment before the advisors arrived where Arielle leaned against the table and spoke to her sister and friends, feeling more relaxed than she had in months. The calm before the storm so often lulled the unwary into a false sense of security. She smiled at her advisors as they entered, Cullen looking a little more sheepish than usual with Leliana and Josephine bookending him -- Cheshire smiles plastered on their faces.  
  
“So?” Arielle looked between them. “Where is he?”  
  
“His last known location was near the border of the Free Marches and Ferelden. We believe he is going to Ostwick.” Leliana offered.

“Why would he need to go to Ostwick?” Dorian leaned on the table.  
  
“I’m not sure but that’s the direction they were heading on my last report. Apparently the woman he’s travelling with is an excellent tracker because my scouts lost their trail in Ferelden.”  
  
“There’s a woman?” Lisette’s wrinkled brow gave way to concern. “Is she a Templar?”  
  
“No and he appears to have been severely wounded. I did attempt to have my scouts ambush them but that was when they lost their trail.”  
  
“Why would she be dragging him to Ostwick?” Cullen asked again.  
  
“It could be that he’s trying to get home to warn Lisette?” Leliana shrugged.  
  
The room fell quiet and Arielle twiddled the figurine on the map, searching her thoughts for answers. What in Thedas could they need in Ostwick? What was in the Free Marches?  
  
“Arielle where is your phylactery?” Cullen’s voice interrupted her and she lifted her head.  
  
“At the Ostwick Circle I assume?” Arielle answered.  
  
“In the Free Marches the vault is usually within the Circle tower, but I don't know if that had changed after Kirkwall?" Cullen frowned  
  
"I don't know where it might be, though, I was never high enough in rank to know." Arielle shook her head. "Are you sure they aren't in the White Spire?"  
  
“Only the phylacteries of the First Enchanters and the Grand Enchanter were store in the White Spire,” Cassandra said. “And they were all destroyed.”  
  
“Then if you’re going to Ostwick it’s advisable that you go by the Circle and retrieve that and destroy it,” Cullen told her. “As a safety precaution.”  
  
“I agree,” Cassandra nodded. “It’s not safe to leave such a thing lying around.”

“If we leave soon we can pass by the Ostwick Circle,” Lisette suggested. “Try to narrow down the search area for my brother, would you?”  
  
“I’ll keep my scouts on it.”  
  
Needless to say she left the meeting with a heavy heart.  
  
 _Back to the Circle?_  

 

* * *

  

She wasn’t sure what else to do, wandering the courtyard for a while before finding her mount and rubbing the mare’s nose, wasting the afternoon. She saw Cassandra and Bull practicing their strikes with Blackwall, found Morrigan in the gardens with Kieran and spoke with them, and bumped into Cole. Between all of which a messenger badgered her from time to time with more requests.  
  
She needed a break. Someplace she could breathe without everyone vying for her attention. There was no clearing her head here… but she had no idea where she could go, looking up at the battlements.  
  
 _Cullen._

She found him in his office, lingering in the doorway for a moment to watch him lean his hip against his desk, speaking calmly to his his two second officers. She’d met the young Templar Cullen was speaking to, knew he was capable and intelligent and cool under pressure -- things she was certain Cullen was more than aware of. The other she knew was a Chevalier, or had been? The Chevaliers had been loyal to Gaspard and now served Celene after the end of the Civil War… whatever it meant, at least they were on her side now.

In the chair behind the desk a young cougar lay stretched out, her gangly legs hanging over the edge of the leather. She lifted her head curiously before sliding off the pillow to pad over to Arielle, lean body winding against her shins.  
  
“Hello Lucy,” Arielle leaned down, scratching behind her ears. “She’s really grown.”  
  
“She has. Are you leaving?” Cullen asked once they’d been dismissed.  
  
“I just need to clear my head,” she walked over and pressed her face into his cowl. “I can’t seem to shake anyone off today.”  
  
“Well… I think there’s something I can do about that,” he chuckled, curling his hand around the back of her neck. “Why don’t you go get some rest? Nobody’s going to go up the ladder.” He flicked his eyes up above them, rubbing the base of her skull until her eyes closed.  
  
“Going to the Ostwick Circle… after all this time…” she murmured.  
  
Trepidation had filled her, more memories of Templars and Mages and _friends_ that had been lost or killed or had turned against her spilled to the forefront of her mind, memories that she had pushed back to seek peace at the Conclave. Their Templars had not been unkind. The Ostwick Templars hadn’t deserved what they had received.

“Arielle...” he said, catching her face in his hands. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yes I’m fine…” She curled her hands around his wrists, closing her eyes against the kiss he pressed to her brow.

“Alright then, I’ll field anyone that comes in.” She nodded and turned, climbing up the ladder and nearly dragging her body to his bed to collapse into the sheets.  
  
“Do you want Lucy?” He asked the loft and she heard the scrabbling of the cat on the wooden ledge. “She wants y--mmf--” the cat used his face as a jumping off point. “Why don’t you love _me_ this much?”  
  
Arielle laughed, wrapping her arms around the animal that burrowed in beside her. She took a few deep breaths of the wildcat’s fur and tried to calm her frayed nerves.  
  
They’d been discussing tactics to reach the Circle, pushing for a team to be made, and while she’d seen Dorian staring her down over the table she’d completely avoided him on her way out.  
  
She knew Dorian’s opinions on the Circles, she agreed with many of them, but that didn’t change the fact that the Circle had been her home and the mages that had been within it had been her family. That didn’t mean that going back there after all this time wouldn’t be painful.

She needed space from everyone before they left, space from the people that supported her even in her darkest times -- this was something she needed to come to terms with on her own.  
  
She couldn’t be sure when she fell asleep surrounded by Cullen’s scent, when the dreams crept up on her despite her safety, because suddenly she was shorter and lighter and less battle weary… suddenly she was trembling and terrified and kneeling in the cold of Haven again.  
  
 _This is the Fade_.  
  
She looked at her hands and scrambled to her feet, fear building in her chest. Her nails were long and painted, her palms soft and unused.  
  
 _Something’s wrong_.  
  
She started moving, reaching her hands up to find her hair bound up in braids she hadn’t touched in years.  
  
 _What_?  
  
Her hands shook as she touched the hauntingly familiar fabrics, stomach turning. She had known the Fade to be tricky, she had seen what it was capable of but this…  
  
She felt the world collapsing into her, the winds blowing straight through her clothes as she clutched her arms to herself.  
  
“Solas!” She cried out for him, wishing he could hear her over the howling winds that devoured the very ground she stood on. “Cullen!?” Panic settled into her chest and she closed her eyes.

 _I can’t leave_.  
  
 _Why can’t I wake?_  
  
She caught the edges of the Fade’s reality and passed into another place, the Anchor bursting in her palm at her manipulation.  
  
 _I’m fighting it. Solas doesn’t fight where it wants to take him._  
  
She faltered in the emptiness around her and took a breath so hot she thought she might have been inside an oven -- and relaxed.  
  
 _Why am I here?_  
  
She opened her eyes again, breath rising in quivering mists. The gardens unfolded before her: the voices of dying men on the winds, magic burning her eyes as the Circle tower shivered under her gaze. She was, quite suddenly, standing at the precipice of an action she had taken so many years before.  
  
This was an eerie mixture of the beautiful tower she had once called home, the flames that had helped them escape, and something she did not yet recognize.  
  
Her feet wouldn’t move from beneath her, fear tensing her muscles. She had never feared the Fade, she hadn’t feared the Fade since she had left it all those years ago -- waking with a jolt to the sounds of the Templars around her.

 _The Harrowing._  
  
The storm picked up around her, winds pushing her in towards the gardens, and she shook her head.  
  
“No! Please! No! Wake up! Arielle wake _up_!” She squeezed her eyes shut again, heart beating so rapidly she thought it might burst.  
  
A hand burst from the shadows and pulled her, claws in her hair and hands on her skin.  
  
“No!”

 

* * *

 

He liked being Arielle’s confidant, being the person she came to when she needed a respite. It was quite the honor to play guard dog for her when everyone in the world was searching for her -- for her opinion or head was relative. He looked up at the door opening, face softening at Dorian’s entrance.  
  
“You looked like you were ready for a demon to walk through the door, something the matter?” The mage slumped against his desk, arms folded.  
  
“What are you doing down from your high tower?”  
  
“Leliana’s _crows_.”  
  
Cullen couldn’t help the laugh, “Yes the rookery above you is a bit noisy.”  
  
“Is she…”  
  
“Upstairs, sleeping, she’s asked not to be bothered.”  
  
Dorian’s brows wrinkled just slightly, “She’s not alright about this.”  
  
“No I didn’t think she would be. Going back to a place with so many memories…” a muscle in his face twitched and he lifted a hand to smooth it away.  
  
“Has she ever mentioned anything about her… what is it? Harrowing?”  
  
“Oh… she said it was rough.”  
  
“Yes that’s about what she told me,” he hummed. “Such a silly practice, really.”  
  
“I’m assuming you didn’t come in here to discuss controversial Chantry practices?”  
  
“I just think we should be careful about her--” His voice dropped off and he lifted his eyes to the loft.

“ _Please_ …” Cullen heard her voice, soft and panicked. 

“Arielle?” He rose from his desk and paused a moment. “Arielle!” He scaled the ladder, nearly missing a rung.

“Cullen?”  
  
He thought she might have noticed him but her eyes were sealed tightly, her body tense and taut. Lucy was laying pressed to her side even as the Inquisitor fought with her hands against her nightmares.  
  
“Arielle!” He dove to her, catching her wrists. “It’s only a dream…”  
  
Lucy growled low and the burst of light from the Anchor on her hand nearly froze him stiff.  
  
“ _Maker_.”  
  
“No! Please!” Her voice was ragged and sharp, the sound of it shredding him like talons. “No!” Tears pressed at the corners of her eyes, her breathing ragged.  
  
“That’s no ordinary dream,” Dorian said.  
  
“Get Solas! He’ll know how to wake her!” He watched Dorian’s eyes flicker to the sword at his hip and felt the tinge of distrust taint their friendship. “Pavus! I will not _kill_ her!”  
  
It was at that moment that he truly realized that he might never escape what he had been before. The hesitance of Dorian to leave her with him despite his affections, the momentary flicker of doubt on the mage’s face… things that spoke of a mistrust Cullen couldn’t blame him for. The breaking of all barriers that separated _mage_ from _Templar_ would never be fully complete… he would always be a Templar with his blade held aloft in their eyes despite how they professed to _trust_ him. Despite how the Tevinters laughed at their Templars and used them for their own purposes… a mage’s most primal fear was that of an ordained blade high above their heads.  
  
He couldn’t worry about that now, turning his attention to Arielle. This was nothing like a Harrowing, there were no demons waiting for her on the other side of the Fade, but he could feel the tension in her muscles beneath his hands and the pressure of her magic cresting over him; waves breaking against an impregnable embankment.

  

* * *

 

Her robes slapped against her legs as if they were wet but she barely felt them, wrapping her arms around herself.  
  
“ _Arielle!”_

She heard a familiar voice on the wind but the sound was drowned out by her own heartbeat, by the lyrium coursing through her blood, and she turned her eyes to the tower again. She didn’t want to resist this time, she didn’t say _no_ because curiosity had begun to seep into her -- a morbidly inquisitive feeling that made her muscles itch to be stretched.

 _This is it._  
  
She reached out to the gate; half-ruined images of children chasing each other inside the protected courtyard flickered across her senses -- dark clouds massing around the tower’s head.  
  
“ _I will not_ kill _her!”_  
  
“Who’s going to die?” She asked aloud, interest waning only slightly. “Who is there?” She drew her fingers back from the gate and curled her hands to her chest, turning to look behind her.  
  
“How can you expect to lead them if you cannot face your own fears?”  
  
“Who is-- who is there?” Pain shot through her hand, biting at her shoulder. “What?” She searched in the darkness.  
  
“I am… whoever you want me to be,” the figure spoke, voice sending shivers up her spine.  
  
“I… don’t want you to be anything. I want to go home.”  
  
“But where is home, child?” Warm fingers touched her face and she looked up what she thought were the eyes of her mother.  
  
“I don’t know… I thought it was…” She turned her head back towards the Circle gate. A gulf had grown, the shadow cast by the tower touching her heels, and when she looked back to the shade she saw figures beyond it… and a castle bright to their backs.

 

* * *

 

“She’s not possessed,” Solas confirmed and Cullen released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding.  
  
“I’m aware of what a possession looks like, Solas!” The former Templar said sharply. “What’s _wrong_ with her?”  
  
“Doubt. Fear. Pain. Anger. Frustration. She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders and the key to the Fade on her hand… she was once able to visit me through that mark in the past… I suppose this time isn’t any different.”  
  
“How do we wake her?” Cullen asked.  
  
“She will wake… when her doubts have cleared…”  
  
Cullen held her arms in place for a moment longer, then released her wrists. He felt less than worthless here, watching her face shift almost imperceptibly beneath dreams he couldn’t control.

“Is she susceptible like this?” He asked, voice empty.  
  
“She is _always_ susceptible to be possessed but it is not likely that she will be unless she allows it to come to pass. The spirits don’t feed off her as they once did.”

“We could… try to find her? Give her a door out?” Dorian suggested.  
  
“Blood magic,” Cullen spat in return.  
  
“Yes but it would _help_ which means it’s not _bad_. You know of all people that _I_ wouldn’t use blood magic to change her.”

“No it’s too dangerous.”  
  
“ _All_ magic comes with an inherent risk. But I am a _great_ mage and Arielle is resilient.”  
  
“No. Tevinters are always eager to use blood magic at any turn. She’ll come out of this. She’s stronger than this,” he hoped his words didn’t sound as empty as they felt.

 

* * *

 

“Are you confused?” The shade asked and she looked away.  
  
“I… don’t know…”  
  
To her left stood a familiar manor, the windows blazing in the inevitable sunset, with flickers of a life she had held so dear. She moved that way, instead, but stopped short of the tree-lined drive.  
  
“Why are you doing this?” She heard another voice behind her. “Why are you allowing yourself to be trapped in this place?” She turned to see the same face, the same ever so familiar face.  
  
 _Not my mother? No something’s wrong_.

“I’m… are you a demon?”  
  
“I could be,” she answered, showing wickedly sharp teeth. “I could be whatever you want me to be.”  
  
“I want to know why I can’t leave.”  
  
“You can always leave. But do you want to?” The spirit appeared behind her, fingers curling around her face. “Would you rather hide here? Hide from the truths that surround you? We could pretend that we’re back at the Circle. We could pretend we have nothing to hide. We could pretend the weight we bear is nothing.”  
  
The thought was tempting -- to stay here in peace without worry of losing someone she loved or facing the fears that loomed above her and left her heart weak.  
  
“We could… if you wanted… stay here forever.”  
  
She saw flickers of her past; heard the sighs and screams of those she had killed beneath the soft and welcoming voices of her friends and families.  
  
“We want you to be happy. You cannot be happy if you enter that place.”  
  
“Ostwick?” She said the name aloud. The world broke away beneath her and the empty hole in her chest filled with trepidation.  
  
The building formed before her, all mists and ivy vines, and she reached out to touch the stone.  
  
“You know what awaits you.”  
  
“If I don’t go I won’t find my brother.”  
  
 _But why do I need to find my brother?_  
  
She turned to look over her shoulder.  
  
 _He’s right there, isn’t he?_  
  
The figure flickered, the boy’s smiling face hollow and pained for the briefest of moments.  
  
 _I’m in the Fade._  
  
She drew her hand back from the building.  
  
“ _Arielle please_.” Words reached her, soft and longing, and she saw the spirit look up.  
  
“You’re me?” She came to an understanding. “You’re a _part_ of me?”  
  
The spirit smiled and Arielle felt her vision veer, the world turning until she was looking at herself -- at the chilled teenager with the braided hair and the velvet robes.

 

* * *

 

Night had fallen, muted silvers casting over the Inquisitor in his bed. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing in the loft, how long he’d been pacing around the room incapable of doing much else besides standing vigil over her.  
  
“Have you done any work today?” He looked to see Cassandra climbing the ladder with a tray of food balanced in her hand.  
  
“Does anyone suspect?” He took the tray from her.  
  
“You should know that we are good at keeping secrets,” the Seeker walked over to the bed. “She seems more peaceful now.”  
  
“Yes the flailing finally stopped a few minutes ago.” Cullen bit this thumbnail, leaning against the wall.  
  
“Why are you so anxious?” Cassandra lifted her eyebrows, smoothing her hand over Arielle’s forehead.  
  
“How can you be so calm!” He wished he could relax his shoulders. He’d thought removing his plate would help but here he was -- taut as a pole.  
  
“If you think for a moment I _like_ any of this then I should have you on your knees like a dog!” Cassandra threatened, stoic facade breaking. “I like this as much as you do, I like the mages’ connection to the Fade as much as I like killing innocents. I would _join_ her as soon as I was able. If I could I would down a draught of lyrium and force myself into her dream and pull her out… but I can’t, can I? So it’s better that I not _panic._ Someone has to keep their head!”  
  
“I suggested she rest… I should have listened to her…” he murmured. “She didn’t seem like she wanted to talk and I’ve forced information out of her before… I didn’t want to question it…”  
  
“Cullen you are too quick to blame yourself.”  
  
“No matter _how_ certain you are about something it can always be undone in the Fade!” He told her. “Arielle is powerful, incredibly so, but demons feed on your doubts and fears and she has _many_. This isn’t about _trust_. I trust her with the world, with the lives of countless soldiers, but I do not trust the Fade.”  
  
“Would you kill her?” Cassandra asked, stopping him in his tirade so suddenly his arms dropped to his side.  
  
“Would I… _what_?” His lips parted around words that wouldn’t form, hand shaking on the hilt of his sword.  
  
“Would you kill her, Cullen, if she was possessed?” Cassandra gestured her hand at the Inquisitor. “If she rose, right at this moment, an Abomination… would you be able to lift your sword?”  
  
“That is…” He slumped his back against the wall. “Am I so weak to… that is not something I…”  
  
“You cannot say you haven’t considered it?” Cassandra asked.  
  
“I’m not a Templar anymore,” he said roughly, fingers raking through his hair. “I’m not a Templar anymore.”  
  
“I would kill her.”  
  
“Then you have more willpower than I,” he murmured, sinking to the floor.  
  
“But for now she is only sleeping, and for now we do not have to worry about that,” Cassandra walked over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed before him.  
  
“You love her?” Cullen asked.  
  
“No as you do, but yes,” she said peacefully.  
  
“There are many types of love in this world. Mine is perhaps the most unhealthy.”  
  
“You are your own worst critic,” Cassandra released a half laugh. “You’re as bad as I am. Arielle would ask if that’s a Chantry thing.”  
  
“And then she would proceed to make fun of us.”  
  
“Perhaps this moment is one she needed. Sometimes we need clarity in the shadow of others’ burdens… it could be that she hasn’t woken because… she needs to understand something.”  
  
“I never thought she would be a mage,” he murmured. “I never thought I’d…”  
  
“But here you are and there she is and there’s nothing you can do about it,” Cassandra said softly.  
  
“Indeed… there she is.” He smiled fondly, leaning his head back against the wall. “You have so much faith in people, Cassandra.”  
  
“ _Please._ I have faith in very few things. Faith in _people_ is not one of those things. I have faith in individuals, in people I know and trust, and I have faith in my decisions and my blade.”  
  
“Is your belief really unshakeable?”  
  
“I am _human_ , Cullen, there is nothing that I am impervious to…” Cassandra looked over her shoulder at Arielle.  
  
“She would make you Divine.”  
  
“I know.” Cassandra murmured. “Would you?”  
  
“In a heartbeat.”  
  
“I will take the Sunburst Throne if I am chosen,” she turned back to him. “For you. For Arielle. For everyone who was hurt by the Chantry. It never should have been that way.”  
  
“Whatever will you do in all those political meetings? No swordplay or dragons to fight?”  
  
“I will draft you into my service and force you to spar with me three times a day and teach you to juggle so you might amuse me.” He chuckled at the spark of anger in her voice.  
  
He wished, desperately, that Arielle would wake -- watching Cassandra sink to the floor across from him, sighing in her tired way. He prayed with his fingers laced and pressed tight to his forehead, his eyes closed so hard he could see lights behind his lids, crushing out the familiar verses between his teeth as if they could offer some comfort. He turned to _faith_ when he had nothing else.  
  
Even if the verses made him feel nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!
> 
> Feel free to check out the aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	18. As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra is so done with this shit. For real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm MOVING SO IT'S TAKING FOREVER TO UPDATE I'M SO SORRY.
> 
> There's a cute little aside over here called **[On Lucy and how she came to him.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2753102)** that explains the presence of Lucy in this chapter (definitely a cat and not a human).
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.

Here, standing in the wastelands that constituted the Fade, she felt a strange calm take her -- ethereal and sublime. She had felt this before in moments of terror, the calm of a body that had accepted its fate, and it left her with a clear head and an easy decision.  
  
“I think it’s time,” she said to the girl in the snow before her. “It’s time for me to leave, don’t you think?”  
  
“There’s no way out… how do I leave?” The apprentice asked.  
  
Arielle felt pity in her heart for the girl, for _herself_ , as she had never felt before. She was starting to understand that for all her grandeur and for all the jokes she made… the girl that had been nearly killed at her Harrowing was still inside of her… fear was still a part of every decision she made.  
  
“I leave when I want to,” Arielle lifted her hand. “And you can leave as well. You’ve always had the power to leave, you just didn’t want to use it. What if I returned and nothing was the same? What if I faced my demon and escaped but something went wrong? I have to stop worrying about those things.”  
  
The girl in the snow admired her for a moment, then stood up on her own feet.  
  
“I have fought Desire and Pride demons and lived. I faced a would-be god and survived. I have entered the Fade twice and come back out bent but unbroken. I _will_ survive. I can do nothing _but_ survive.”  
  
“Do not be afraid, that’s what you mean?” She smiled and Arielle offered a smile in return.  
  
“Be afraid, but don’t let that fear stop you from doing what is right.” She closed her eyes. “It’s time to _wake up_.”

 

* * *

 

Air filled her lungs, sharp and cool, as she sat upright with a jolt -- her body felt heavy and _real_ and the sounds of people scrambling rushed over her ears like warm waves.  
  
“Arielle!” He was there first, hand in hers, on his knee beside her.  
  
“Thank the Maker you’re _awake_ ,” Cassandra stood behind him, relief in her angular features.

She looked at them both, glancing over to see Dorian peering up over the edge of the loft and hearing the sounds of several of her other companions below asking if she was awake, and felt hot tears in her eyes.  
  
“Arielle?” Cullen said her name again, touching the side of her face to wipe a tear away.  
  
“I’m sorry I made you all worry!” She finally said, laughing. “You all look like you were at a wake!”  
  
“We were worried! Laughing at a time like this!” Cassandra scolded.  
  
“Yes I’m sorry,” she couldn’t stop the snickering despite Cullen’s mildly perturbed expression. “I just… didn’t expect to find you all staring at me. How long have I been asleep?”  
  
“Only a few hours,” Dorian told her.

“Well then why all the concern?”  
  
“You were having nightmares. We couldn’t wake you,” Cullen said.  
  
“Oh… well I didn’t really want to be woken, I suppose. What went on while I was gone?” She looked to Cullen, touching the side of his face and smoothing her thumb over his scar. The worry on his brow smoothed away at such a simple touch, but the concern in his eyes only flickered.  
  
“The usual. People argued.” Dorian sat on the edge of the loft. “A ship without its rudder as they say.”  
  
Arielle felt that something had happened, that while she had been away a rift had formed between Cullen and the others, though it seemed as though they were trying their damndest not to let her know. 

“I’ll… I guess I should go get everything ready,” Arielle sighed, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

“You’ll have two extras with you, if you’ll have us,” Lisette said from the ladder.  
  
“Two?”  
  
“You’ll need a Templar to open the vault,” Cullen offered. “I’m going with you for this one.”  
  
“Are you sure? What about--”  
  
“That’s what I was speaking to my Seconds about. They will handle the Army while I’m away, I need to see this through and I don’t trust another Templar to go in case they’re captured and turned.”  
  
“So that’s what’s been going on around here: insubordination?” Arielle laughed. “Get out of here, all of you,” she waved her hand. “I’m fine. Let Cullen work.” Lucy pounced into her lap at the sound of her laugh.

Worry tugged at her heart, though, at the look Dorian cast to Cullen and the way her Commander avoided his eyes.

_What happened?_

 

* * *

  

“Does it bother you that he’s going?” Blackwall found her in the stables and she laughed at the wood chips in his beard, reaching out to dust them off familiarly.  
  
“You always show up right when I’m in turmoil, huh? You and Dorian should start a ‘protect the Inquisitor’s psyche at all costs’ club.”  
  
“Cassandra would join surreptitiously and Iron Bull would demand to be the leader.”  
  
She laughed, leading her horse out of her pen, “You _do_ have a sense of humor.”  
  
“Sometimes,” he wiped his hands and leaned against the stall. “You seem like you needed an ear and it’s rare to see you without Commander Cullen or Cassandra at your elbow. At least Dorian gives you space.”  
  
“They just worry about me. Cassandra worries about everyone,” she smiled fondly.  
  
“Does it ever become suffocating? Having all these people around you?”  
  
“The short answer? Yes.” She murmured, brushing her mare’s coat with long, clean sweeps.  
  
“That’s not the answer I wanted, though, is it?”  
  
She looked up at him, then back at her horse, combing her fingers through the palomino’s mane.  
  
“Inquisitor,” he caught the mare’s bridle and leaned closer to her. “You’re worried about something you can’t talk to those three about. I know.”  
  
“They’re from three different sides of a fight,” she looked up into the silver of his eyes. “Dorian and Cullen are close now, Cassandra and Cullen are close as well, but I’m worried that every time something occurs that’s outside the Chantry’s ideals a rift will occur between them. When I slipped into that dream something happened… The three of them are trying to pretend it was nothing but--”  
  
“Let them at it, then, yeah?” He interrupted, huffing a laugh. “Unrest in the ranks is normal when you’re mixing volatiles like Templars and mages. They’ll sort it out, they’re professionals, if you’re worried about it tie them to the same cart.”  
  
“Tie them…?” She tilted her head.  
  
“Where I come from if you have two horses that don’t like each other you tie them to the same cart and make them pull.”  
  
She smiled at the thought, then laughed, “Blackwall if I bound Dorian and Cullen together they’d drive each other mad.”  
  
“But they’d have to air their dirty laundry, that’s better than having it smelling up the camp.”  
  
“Maybe you’re right… I’ll think about it.”  
  
“You’re leaving tomorrow? Let me take care of her, you get some rest,” he offered and pulled her horse away.  
  
“She deserves some alfalfa, if we have some, she’s got a long ride ahead of her,” Arielle didn’t argue, starting to leave. “Blackwall?”  
  
“You know you have a bad habit of leaving and then starting a conversation again?”  
  
“Yes I’m aware,” she smiled wryly. “Thank you for being here.”  
  
“Any time you need to breathe in the scents of horse shit and cedar come on by.”

 

* * *

 

He looked up at her standing on the crest of a hillock, silhouetted by the oranges and golds of a sunset that had sunk behind her long ago. It was in moments like this, with her hand to her mouth and her eyes lost in thought, that she stole his breath from his lips. She was ravishing with her golden hair down, lifting in the breezes of her homeland, but her curled fingers to her mouth and the fold of her arm beneath her breasts gave her a mournful shape -- an angel burdened by the world. 

She had finally returned, after fleeing the only place she had ever known, and he could only imagine what was going through her head. 

“We will cross into Ostwick tomorrow,” Cullen finally climbed the hill to her side. “What do you see out there?”  
  
“Sadness,” she answered, lowering her hand. “I can’t yet see the tower… but I can _feel_ it.”  
  
He had always envied mages that talent, the skill to feel the air around them and taste the magic in the ground -- a talent Templars were completely numb to.  
  
“What did you dream about?” He felt the question fall off his lips before he could stop it.

 _No backing down now._  

“I know it’s been bothering you, I know you haven’t been sleeping, and I know it has to do with the Circle. I’m _worried_ Arielle.”  
  
She turned to look at him and caught his face in her hands, a smile on her face. She was always careful not to wound him, not to delegitimize his feelings and his worries, but she never quite put them to rest _either._  
  
“I know, Cullen,” she whispered and touched her lips to his.  
  
The way she said his name was like music; how soft the Marches’ lilt was on her lips, the curl of her tongue around each syllable… it all made his heart beat a little faster in his chest. He found himself, in this moment, falling deeper.  
  
Falling wasn’t the right word. He had _fallen_ for her in Haven, he was certain of that, but it had been a rocky fall -- from their first meeting to their first conversation he’d been catching on pitfalls. He had _fallen_ when he saw her reach the top of the ridge, held her chilled body in his arms.  
  
But being in love wasn’t like _falling_.

Being in love was more like quicksand: the harder one fought the further one sank until you were swallowed whole by the earth. Each time she kissed him, each time she said his name, he felt himself slip a little more. Being in love was a slow and gentle descent into the curiosity that budded into affection that burst into bloom as _love_ and all of its glory.

“When we find my brother,” she whispered and he opened his eyes, searching her face, “I’ll tell you everything.”  
  
“If you need me I’m here,” he told her.  
  
“I know, Cullen. Having you here makes it all easier to bear.”  
  
Her smile didn’t reassure him.

 

* * *

 

She could hear the chatter behind her for miles; each day it began and ended whenever something interesting happened or if nothing interesting was happening at all. She heard Lisette telling Cassandra about a new leather polish she’d found, Varric dragging information out of Cullen about Kirkwall, Dorian bickering with Lisette about fabrics and their benefits, and last but not _least_ Cassandra and Varric pretending to avoid conversation with each other but failing miserably.  
  
It was comforting to have them all talking on the long rides, filling the empty air with voices and laughter, because the last time she had passed through here -- there had been only silence.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of pine trees and the sweet scent of rotting leaves as her horse slowed atop a hill. She’d known the moment they’d passed into Trevelyan lands, recognized the woods and creeks that she’d explored with her grandfather and sister, and relished it. Two weeks of travel and they had finally breached the edge of her family’s hold.  
  
“Last time I came through here I was running for my life,” she said in an undertone and Cullen looked over at her, charger snorting in the cool evening air.  
  
“Half the forest was destroyed on your way out,” Lisette directed their attention to a healing wound in the trees where a forest fire had been started.  
  
“I remember that…” Arielle murmured. “I was leading everyone, I was the only one who knew how to navigate the land so I had to get us to the border…” She looked out over the trees to where the tower stood, eyes faraway. “We’d heard there were others up north but the children were so _so_ tired. Margot fainted and we knew we’d have to hide. There’s a cave over there where Lisette and I used to play…” her voice trailed off.  
  
“They found you,” Cullen finished.  
  
“We were exhausted, it only took four Templars to destroy our cloaking wards. I thought… we might die then… I’ve never again seen quite the explosion we caused. We didn’t want to kill them…” she looked down.

“You did what you had to do,” Varric told her.  
  
“It’s only a few more hours’ ride to the Circle. We can make it there without trouble,” Lisette said, interrupting the conversation to draw her sister’s attention from her past.  
  
“I think it would be best if we split up from here.”  
  
“Arielle you must be crazy,” Dorian frowned. “If there are Red Templars--”  
  
“We can handle them in groups of three. Lisette and I can lead a group through the woods. I don’t want all six of us to be caught in a crossfire.”  
  
“She’s right,” Cassandra agreed. “Who will go?”

 _Tie them to the same cart._  
  
“Lisette take Cullen and Dorian. Varric and Cassandra will go with me. Lisette take the back road that grandfather used, you _will_ meet Templars there.”  
  
“Right,” Dorian nodded.  
  
Cullen hesitated by her for a moment, horse shifting its weight beneath his concern, “You are going by the main road?”  
  
She smiled at him understandingly, “We’ll be fine. We’ve handled a giant fighting a dragon. We can handle a few Red Templars.” She swung her leg out against his calf playfully.  
  
“But these are not ordinary Templars and you are one mage short,” Cullen caught her boot. “Do not take any unnecessary risks.”  
  
“We’ll do what we have to, Commander,” she told him gently and his face broke around a wry smile.  
  
His gaze burned into hers and she narrowed her eyes, leaning in towards him, “Use a signal flare if you get into trouble.” He released her foot and joined Lisette.  
  
“We will not be far behind,” Lisette turned her horse.

* * *

 

“Riders! Six of them on the ridge! They’ve split up,” she galloped into camp, jumping off her horse and sliding towards him with the momentum, her braid bouncing over her shoulder. “We need to leave.”  
  
“They split?” He frowned. “They know the back roads then…” The Mabari at his hip growled. “You take the main road, pick them off as they come through.” He slung a heavy cloak around his shoulders.  
  
“You’re too badly injured,” she grabbed his shoulder.  
  
“A Templar is never too badly injured,” he told her, ice in his lavender eyes.

“Don’t be an asshole or I’ll poke another hole into you,” she threatened. “We need to make it to the Circle.”  
  
“But we’re surrounded by the Fallen,” he frowned. “If we part ways we’ll take them out faster _and_ avoid the Red Bastards.”

She hesitated, “Take Sebastian with you.” The Mabari stood up at attention.  
  
“You never let me leave without him,” he caught his saddle and stepped up onto his horse. “Sebastian, with me.”  
  
“Please be careful,” she caught his stirrup. “You don’t know what these raiders are capable of.”

“I should be saying the same to you.” He clicked his tongue and started off for the back road, Sebastian in tow behind him.  
  
“I’ll see you at the Circle! Don’t _die_ Gavin!” She called after him and he waved his hand in response. “Please don’t die.”

 

* * *

   

She had expected the Templars to come to the main road and the nearer they came to the Tower the more wary she felt. She cast runes as far ahead of them as she dared, casting them behind her as well in case they attempted to ambush them, hearing only the heavy hoofbeats of the horses flanking her and the quiet of woods that had been touched by magic.  
  
“TEMPLAR!” Varric saw the first and his bolt whizzed past her face, taking down the creature in early stages of transformation.

As if a starting gun had been fired Red Templars poured out of the woods as they rode. Arielle cut them down, charging their ranks with bursts of fire and her sword in her hand. She could see Lisette’s path from where they were, catch glimpses of Cullen’s friesian in the waning light, casting from horseback when her attention returned to their siege.  
  
“We’ll never made it! There’s a Behemoth up there!” Varric called.  
  
“I’m dismounting!” Cassandra jumped clear and Arielle caught her reins.  
  
“Varric circle around! I’ll deal with the Behemoth!” She stood on her horse when a Templar tried to grab her, placing one foot on Cassandra’s saddle, the horses running with all their might towards the Behemoth.

 _If I lose a horse I’ll send this bastard to the Fade._  
  
She jumped, the hot edge of a Templar blade catching her leg as she did, and sank her blade into the Behemoth’s head, holding on as he screeched and tossed. Here, surrounded by Red Lyrium, her magic was dampened and thus her physical strength -- but it meant nothing with a sword in her hand.  
  
“Die!” She snarled, hooking her uninjured leg over his shoulder and wrenching her blade to destroy the creature’s head with a screech.  
  
“Arielle behind you!” Cassandra called and she turned as she landed, meeting a Templar blade for blade but feeling her injured leg collapse beneath her.  
  
 _Not this again_.  
  
An arrow pierced the soldier’s throat, sending him slumping to the ground and Arielle looked up, heart racing.  
  
“There are more!” A cloaked figure swung around a tree, blades entered the back of a Templar’s ribcage. “The Red Bastards are everywhere in the forests here!”  
  
“What about the Trevelyan forces?” Arielle demanded, gripping Cassandra’s arm to let the Seeker pull her to her feet.  
  
“They’re battened down at the manor and scattered through the hold protecting the towns,” the archer answered. “I haven’t seen any heavily armed raiders come through here before… and you have a Seeker with you... Who are you?”  
  
“This is my family’s land! I should be asking you who _you_ are!”  
  
“Your family?” Arielle could make out the woman’s mouth, the pink shade of her lips against the gold tones of her skin beneath her hood and the length of brown hair over her shoulder, not much to go on to identify her. “Then you’re Lisette?”  
  
“This is Lady Inquisitor Arielle Trevelyan,” Cassandra introduced, letting Arielle lean on her.  
  
“Are you really?” A touch of amusement entered the woman’s voice. “Well then we should be properly introduced.” Arielle looked on with curiosity crawling in her veins as the woman pulled her hood down. “My name is Ileana Theirin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CAN YOU JUST HEAR CASSANDRA RIGHT NOW?!?**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Check out these two deleted scenes:  **[Arielle finds out they had talked about killing her](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/105476239354/there-was-going-to-be-a-scene-after-arielle-wakes)** and  
>  **[a spoiler heavy (for later Flower chapters) deleted scene between Cullen and Dorian](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/105476312399/sooooooooooo-yet-another-deleted-scene-from)**.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!
> 
> Feel free to check out the aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	19. That is my home of love: if I have ranged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Templars and mages in a Circle oh my.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so I got this chapter out fast. The next one will probably be out tomorrow or Saturday yoooo.
> 
> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.

“When we were children Arielle and I used to explore this place with my grandfather,” Lisette said as they moved through the thickets.  
  
“She doesn’t like it when you tell stories about her. Tell us more,” Dorian rode up beside her, grinning.  
  
“Once we got stuck out here in a storm and my grandfather had to come get us. Oh it was _horrible_. Arielle was terrified. She got caught in a mudslide and broke her ankle... She was always afraid of thunderstorms after that… I think she’s gotten over that probably as an adult.”  
  
“She did seem a little grumpy but I don’t think they scare her anymore,” Dorian chuckled. 

“No I suppose it’s not scary when you can control the elements,” Lisette smiled.  
  
The roar of a Behemoth had the quiet member of their party slowing slightly to look down at the fight that raged just a few short miles away, Cullen’s brows knitted in concern.  
  
“We need to keep pressing, that’s what she said,” Lisette said.  
  
“We should have been with them…” Cullen’s fingers found his sword on his saddle. His muscles ached from riding, his body exhausted from fighting off a fresh wave of withdrawal, but being beside the action and not within it was frustrating.

“They can handle it,” Lisette said. “We need to push forward to the--” When he next looked Lisette was gone from her saddle and swung around to see her hit the ground beneath the weight of massive Mabari, fangs bared and ready for the kill.  
  
“Dorian!” He pulled his reins, jumping off the horse as the hound turned to them, charging Cullen with all its might.

 _What’s a Mabari this well trained doing all the way out here?_  
  
He hated the idea of killing such a beautiful warhound, moving to take the dog’s head. Instead his sword met a shield and the Mabari stopped still.  
  
“Templar!” Dorian called as his magic was culled and Cullen kicked the dog’s defender back, making to drive his sword into the soldier’s throat.  
  
“WAIT!” He veered at the last second, heavy blade sinking into the ground just beside the boy’s head. “THAT’S MY BROTHER!” Cullen looked into the face of the man beneath him, seeing the fear there and the _humanity._

 _He hasn’t been turned._  
  
“Knight… Knight-Commander Cullen?”  


* * *

 

_The Hero and Queen of Ferelden?_

Arielle didn’t have time to respond before Cassandra had tackled Ileana, shoving her out of the way of a volley of arrows. The Inquisitor turned, waving her hand to summon a wave of ice to protect them, the arrowheads thunking heavily against her barrier. “Let’s go! Get the horses!”  
  
“I’ll cover you!” Varric said, Bianca firing without a pause.  
  
“We need to run!” Cassandra said.  
  
“No!” Ileana cried. “I have a man up there!”  
  
“So do we,” Cassandra looked up between the trees.  
  
“Then we’ll do our best!” Arielle’s staff hit the ground hard enough to shake the air around her, the Templars closest to her falling back.  
  
“You’re injured! You need to fall back!” Ileana caught the Inquisitor’s elbow.  
  
She had nearly forgotten the wound on her leg in her adrenaline rush, looking down to see that blood had soaked the stiff leather of her knee-high boots. She shoved her sword through the chest of a Templar and ripped it free, leaning against the Queen for support.

“We’re surrounded,” Arielle bound her leg with Ileana and Varric protecting her, only wrapping the bandage around the outside of her spat to protect the wound. “We need to make a dent in their forces.”  
  
She lifted her arm at the bright flash of light that left her breathless.

 

* * *

 

"Knight-Corporal," Cullen pulled him to his feet and Gavin touched the cut on his cheek next, wincing. "I do apologize, I thought you were--"

"Gavin!" Lisette was a blur as she wrapped her arms around her brother and pulled him close, fingers stroking his hair.

"Lettie!" He lifted her off her feet, hand on the back of her neck.

"Gav I missed you so much!" She sobbed into his collar. "Look how handsome you are, you shaved part of your hair." She pulled at the short hairs on the side of his scalp. "Oh your _face_ ," she gasped and ran her thumb ever so lightly over the scabbed wound that ran over his nose and diagonal down his cheek.

"I quite like it," Dorian was obviously under the impression that the new look was rather dashing. Cullen couldn't disagree that the rugged Templar look suited the dark haired man, wounds only adding more flair. 

"Lettie I'm alright," he gave a crooked smile. "It's good to see you, too." 

"You're wounded," Cullen could see the thick bandages through the sagging cotton tunic he wore as Lisette ran her fingers over them.

"Fallen. They were ordered to kill if you refused the draught."

"The Red Templars?" Cullen frowned.

"Fallen is what we've taken to calling them. The Red Bastards don't deserve the title of _Templar_."

"We? You were traveling with a woman! Where is she?" Lisette searched his face.

"Nice doggie," Dorian was busy rubbing the Mabari's offered belly but he looked up quite suddenly.

"Templars," Cullen felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, the familiar tingle of a dispel sharp on his skin. "They're stunning!" He saw the flash of light and stepped onto his horse. 

"Ileana!" The Mabari, that had been relaxed only a moment before, jumped to attention. "GO SEBASTIAN!" Gavin took off running down the hill, leaping onto his horse. "Follow me!"

"Stay back Dorian!" Cullen called. "Take their flank and hit them hard!"

"You don't have to tell me twice!" He veered and vanished between the trees.  
  
They took the slope at a gallop, crossing into the fray in a few short minutes with Gavin at their head.

"For the Templars!" Gavin cried, longsword bright in the daylight as his horse broke their ranks. He was as fierce as his sisters, even injured he took hits and swung back with a vengeance as he dropped beside a rogue Cullen didn't immediately recognize.

"Commander!" Cullen heard Cassandra's voice and sought out his allies, spurring his charger towards them.

"We got separated from the Inquisitor!" He saw Varric, surrounded but vicious, with Cassandra not far from him.

"I'll get her!" His warhorse dodged attacks as well as any man, taking hits to its armor and diving into the fray as Dorian's barrage broke their flanks.

He saw her at the same time the Seeker did, nearly felt the hit that bent her staff and sent her to the ground, but he moved faster than Cassandra, covering the battleground in mere moments and flinging himself off his horse, turning his body sharply to defend the Inquisitor from the incoming swing of a battleaxe. His shoulder took the blow against his defense and sent him to a knee.

Sparks exploded off his shield and he swung out from beneath it, striking instinctively and feeling the give in his arm when his blade broke through the soft hide of the Red Templar’s belly beneath his lifted plate. He could almost sense every minute movement in the Templar’s body through the vibrations of his sword, blood spilling out as he shoved him off.  
  
He met a charger with his shield and flipped his sword to drive it down into the soldier’s shoulder, ripping it free with his breath heaving his lungs. For a moment he stood over her, quieting his nerves, then he offered her a hand.  
  
“Thank you, Cullen,” she said with awe on her tongue.

“That's the last of these! I certainly chose the right man for our General,” Cassandra wiped her blade and Cullen gave a half smile at the compliment.  
  
“We’ll scout out and find any last stragglers,” Varric said and Cullen nodded.

“Bit out of practice,” he pulled Arielle to her feet without much effort. "You're covered in blood!” He saw the bloodied bandages on her leg and caught her injured wrist. “This is down to the bone. Dorian!”  
  
“Nothing a little magic can’t fix,” but her limbs shook when Dorian reached her, steadied by Cullen’s grip.

"I should have been here to help," Dorian murmured. "You're useless without me."

“You’re all fussing over me but there’s no--” she shuddered when Dorian pulled the flesh taut on her hand.  
  
“Your wards are terrible,” Dorian told her. His voice shook just a little, fingers smooth as she felt mana flood where the Templar’s blade had gouged her hand open. “We need to… do something about that…”  
  
“I’ll work on it,” she murmured, eyes on Cullen as he dropped down to check her leg. “This is not the worst--”  
  
“You could have lost your _hand_ and you’re telling me it’s not the worst thing?” Cullen pulled her over to rest her thigh against his shoulder, hooking her knee over the lip of his pauldron.

“I could have _died_ I’m assuming that’s worse?”  
  
“You might die if the Anchor is removed,” Dorian offered. “We don’t know how integrated this thing has become with you or what will happen if it is taken by force.”  
  
“You said Corypheus tried to take it and couldn’t. That means it’s not just physical, it’s _magically_ _attached._ It could be bound to your very soul.”  
  
“You’re both being overdramatic. I’m fine. _Maker--_ ” She flinched when Cullen peeled the dirtied bandages away from her leg, cutting her spat free with a knife from his belt.

“Yes but what if I wouldn’t have been here? What if Cassandra couldn’t have made it to you on time? You’d be dead under a battle axe with your chest open!” He pulled her leathers back, exposing the furrowed wound and pushing it closed.  
  
“Cullen Rutherford I have been in the middle of the _Fade_ without you! Don’t think just because you saved me this time that means I’m any less capable of keeping myself safe!” She placed her hand on his other shoulder for support when he took the weight off her injured leg with a shift of his body.

"You were being bloody _RECKLESS_!" He nearly shouted and she fell quiet. "You were already _wounded_! _Separated_ from your fireteam! _Already_ one man short! You'd be dead if I hadn't come! I told you to be careful and you gave me a cocky retort! I could have lost you!"

"Arielle?" He looked up to see Gavin standing with his sister just behind him and--

"Sweet Maker..."

"Hello Cullen, _my_ you're handsome now," Ileana smiled and he felt his heart race a little faster, stunned and ashamed that she had seen him yelling at the Inquisitor. He wondered what he must have looked like: raging like a lunatic and putting himself before the Inquisition.

"I'm sorry my Queen I--" his fingers slipped on Arielle's wounded leg where he was pressing the wound closed for Dorian to heal, blood thick on his hands, and she jerked on his shoulder. " _Maker_ Elle I'm sorry," his voice broke but her hand stroked his cheek reassuringly, only making his shame burn higher in his chest.

 

* * *

 

"Gavin?" She looked up to see him but cried out when Cullen's grip slid, gritting her teeth and bearing down the pain. "Maker’s breath that hurt," she heard Dorian give a strained laugh and she rested her head on his arm.

Out of the battle the adrenaline had faded, pain sharp and deep with each movement. She was nearly sitting on Cullen's shoulder now, her good leg weak from pain, but he didn't seem to heed her weight, head bowed.

"Just wait," she heard Lisette's voice through the roar of her own blood. "Just wait a minute, Gav."

"I'm fine--" she grit out. "Sorry the-- first thing you do is-- see me like this."

She cracked a hazy eye to look at him, focusing on the shape of his face and the wound on his nose. She saw her father there, proud and handsome, but she saw her mother in his tired gaze.

The hatred that curled his lip and the anger that tightened his jaw made her heart tight.

"Really p-proud of you, Rabbit," she tore her eyes away and Cullen let her curl her hand around the side of his face. "B-Becoming a Templar. Good boy."

"Rabbit," he echoed and some of the words he might have said fell away. "You still remember?"

"You th-think Mages just forget everything when they join the circle? We just lose all our memories?" She threw her head back, taking in cool air desperately. "Haha shit." 

"Almost done, I can stop if the pain is too much?" Dorian offered.

"I don't want to lose my leg, damn it," she answered.

"Father said..."

"Father said a lot of things, Rab," Arielle's eyes burned. "W-We'll talk about it later."

 

* * *

 

Cullen had only seen her cry once before, in Orlais, but now with the combined pain and emotional weight he heard her sob and felt her body quake against his armor.

"God damn it!" Her voice roused the birds from the trees like a thunderclap and her mana burst; a heat wave in the chilled air.

"Arielle we're almost done," his chest was tight and heavy with turmoil, with regret for yelling at her, with concern for her wounds. Magic sparked and he winced away.

“Keep her steady, Cullen,” Dorian said.  
  
“My fucking hands are shaking, Pavus,” he bit off.  
  
There was a pause in the conversation, quiet falling until Cullen rose to help Arielle steady herself. He held her in place gently to let her put weight on her leg, eyes on hers. Tears had cut through the grime on her face and she was deathly pale beneath it all but she still smiled weakly at him and it cut his heart wide.  
  
“The surrounding area is clear,” Cassandra returned. “We’re only a couple miles off of the Circle.”  
  
“Then we need to get there before dark,” Arielle said. “We can stay there and clean up.”

Cullen watched her walk to her family, strained to hear the soft words she spoke to her brother as her hands caught his face, but the weak smile that spread onto Gavin’s face told him she had eased his nerves.  
  
“You’ve grown a lot since then,” he looked to see Ileana walking toward him.  
  
He remembered seeing her arrive with Alistair behind her -- her Mabari’s fangs bared and dripping with demon blood at their heels. He also remembered a strangely familiar stone figure walking behind her with an axe. At the time he’d thought he was hallucinating, something he considered clearing up.  
  
“You have barely changed at all, Queen Ileana.”  
  
“You’re too kind. A decade has been hell for me.”  
  
“Hero of the Fifth Blight, Queen of Ferelden, seems like it’s been fairly kind.”  
  
“You’re forgetting Wife to Alistair,” she chuckled. “I heard about Kirkwall.”  
  
“I’m sure you did,” he looked away from her.  
  
She said nothing else to him after that, reaching to touch the side of his face in a strangely familiar act that he did nothing to defend against. He sought her eyes out and found understanding there, wisdom beyond her years, and the same kindness he’d seen when she’d rescued him.  
  
“We’ll talk later.” He murmured and she nodded.

 

* * *

 

The group was silent until they reached the tower, finding it cold and empty. Arielle directed them to the various rooms and helped Dorian build a fire in the hearth on the second floor, avoiding her siblings for the moment. She could see, as they walked through the once familiar halls, where her friends had died -- where they had fought to escape the bindings that held them.

She wandered the floors finding papers and books where they had been cast aside during the struggle, straightening dressers and armoires and trunks whose contents were still untouched from years before. She could see each student, feel each apprentice, could remember running down the halls with others behind her -- the screams of those who fell.  
  
She found her way to a dark and empty washroom and stood in a shower until the water ran cold, scrubbing the blood from her skin and the ache from her heart until her skin burned from the contact.  
  
“Once we were in our peace with our lives assured. Once we were not afraid of the _dark_ ,” she sang a bard song, letting the water pour over her and into her mouth until she was humming.

The laughter of the other mages filled her ears, bright and echoing as children formed magic bubbles and apprentices washed each others’ hair. She remembered there had been a suds fight and her First Enchanter had stormed in only to meet a deluge of soap.

She had watched her First Enchanter die at a Templar’s blade, desperate to protect the children.

“Ugh-- We held the Fade and the demon’s flight--” she leaned against the stone wall, hand still aching as she tried to finish the tune.

“We held together the fragile sky to keep our way of life,” a soft voice finished the verse and she lifted her head. “You have a lovely voice.” 

She suddenly felt exposed as she never had before: seeing, for a moment, the visage of a Templar in the doorway. She slapped her arms over her chest, terrified.  
  
“Whoa I didn’t mean to startle you,” he gestured over his shoulder. “Lisette sent me to find you. I’ll leave.”  
  
“No, I’m sorry Cullen,” She beckoned him closer, snorting when he tripped over her robes. “Why didn’t she come herself?” She lowered her arms.  
  
“I guess she feels she has no right to speak to you here,” he murmured.  
  
A mist rose in the muted light of the washroom, what little starlight dared to enter through the small window filtering onto the Commander as he passed closer to her. The angles of his face were cast into sharp relief, the shadows around his eyes nearly sunken, a hallowed solemnity in his features that she had only glimpsed before. He took her breath away with nary a word.  
  
He stood a little ways away from her, still and stiff as a statue, careful not to let his eyes wander from her face as they watched each other. The downward tilt of his chin made her her heart ache and she reached out to him.  
  
“Arielle I want to apologize.”  
  
“Will you apologize over here?”  
  
“I thought I might lose you again today.”  
  
“Cullen.”  
  
“You were in pain and I--” she silenced him by wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing the words away. He might protest later that she was soaking wet, that the long tendrils of her hair were clinging to the fabric of his shirt, but for now he kissed her back -- all heat and desperation. She wanted to pull his clothes from him and feel the firm muscle of his back beneath her palms and the bite of the stone against her shoulders -- instead he drew away.

“I know this was hard for you.”  
  
“It had better be.”  
  
“Maker’s breath… Arielle _please_ ,” he gave a half laugh, “can you be serious for one moment?”  
  
“Why do you always want to be serious when I’m naked?” Her smile faded, however, when his eyes found hers.  
  
“You should know that we don’t have to stay here if it’s too h-- _difficult_ for you. Andraste preserve me it is ha-- _difficult_ to talk to you like this.” He cleared his throat.  
  
“You’re a big boy you can handle yourself.”  
  
“I never know if you’re talking about what I _think_ you’re talking about or if I’m just a pervert.”  
  
“You might be a pervert.”  
  
“I’m here to offer you support and you’re making jokes… I suppose I don’t know what I expected.” He sighed, dropping his head onto her shoulder and she laughed, running her fingers through his hair.  
  
“I dreamt about this place,” she admitted. “I dreamt about myself as a young woman during my Harrowing,” she lifted his head gently. “I realized that… I needed to come here to recover.”  
  
“You’ve lost so much. I knew coming here was hard for you,” his voice was tight around the knot in his throat, “...and I yelled at you.”  
  
“You were angry that I risked my life so stupidly. I needed to be told off.”  
  
“You were delirious from pain, arguing with me, and I snapped.”  
  
“Cullen sometimes we’re going to fight, you realize that? No matter how much I love you we’re going to argue and we’ll be angry with each other -- and that’s okay.”  
  
“You don’t deserve to have _me_ doing that, though. Everyone in the world is relying on you and I--”  
  
“It’s hard for you, isn’t it?” She interrupted him, understanding settling in her heart. “You sought me out because being back in a Circle is just as hard for you as it is for me?”  
  
His eyes softened in their shadows, his hands easing on her shoulders.  
  
“You didn’t want me to come without you because you wanted to protect me but you put yourself in harm’s way instead. You told me you were tortured, that mages tried to break your mind. You told me you had been filled with hatred, that you had followed Meredith’s words to a T, and that the Templars were never the same for you afterwards… that the Circles held nothing but bad memories for you yet you came here anyway after all your experiences.”  
  
“I hear what you say in your dreams,” he whispered. “And when you were in the Fade I heard you saying you didn’t want to come here -- that you were afraid of this place.”  
  
“I was.”  
  
“I knew what that felt like. I foolishly thought my being here would help--”  
  
“If you weren’t here I’d still be singing tavern songs and pretending the dead still draw breath. If you hadn’t been here I’d be dead with a battle axe in my chest. Cullen you’re too hard on yourself, I’ve told you this before.”  
  
“You and everyone I’ve ever known.”  
  
“Then maybe you should see a pattern you stubborn jackass,” she slapped the back of his head gently and forced a smile onto his lips.  
  
“I’m going to put you back under the water for that,” he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet, her screams of delight echoing off the walls of the washroom.  
  
“No! Cullen please! I was injured! I almost died! You wouldn’t do this to the Inquisitor!” She laughed even as ice water poured over them, the heat of his mouth finding hers nearly searing in contrast.

For just a moment the empty halls of the Ostwick Circle were again filled with love and laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!
> 
> Feel free to check out the aside **[Empty Churches and a Broken Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2703752/chapters/6050885)**. See you next time  <3


	20. Like him that travels, I return again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a beta for this fic now. Love [her](http://malvinnia.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also [deleted scenes](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/106548517974/there-was-more-to-the-conversation-between-cullen).

There had always been something alluring about the forbidden, and there was something about the cold stone of the shower wall chafing her back and the heat of him buried inside her and the rough slide of his wet tunic against her breasts -- something that made her blood rise higher and the coil tight in her belly.

His breath rushed over her shoulder, his words a jumbled mess of her name and half composed sentences, jagged over the edges of his movements. Every thrust of his hips had her overstimulated skin burning in the cold spray of the shower and forced her fingers tighter into the heavy curls of his hair, biting down groans against the muscle of his shoulder.

Oh yes, the regulations and barriers put in place to protect them had never been forgotten. His hands tilted her hips, not letting her cling to the edge any longer, and she caught leverage on the leather of his belt that neither of them had bothered to push down.

She cried out finally, his hand catching the back of her head as fast as lightning to keep her from hitting the wall, and pulled him over the edge with her -- his groan low and muffled against her skin.

They had been bound by rules all their lives, rules that would once have kept them apart, that ensured that if they had been caught in the act she would have been maimed and he only reprimanded. Here she knew he still felt it, as she did, that what had blossomed between them was something to be frowned at.

But he was not a Templar. And this was a Circle only in name.

"I feel like I just desecrated a grave." He reached to finally shut the water off.

"Shit, you're sexy," she earned a haggard laugh. "Moment ruiner."

Dried and dressed and warmed by an immolation variant she laced her fingers through Cullen’s and led him down the hallways. She guided him through the lives of those she had lost and told him of the life she’d had among them; laughing at old memories and stuttering over the pain of the dead, all the while steadied by his warm voice and gentle questions.

 

* * *

 

He watched her waltz through the halls, leading him between bookshelves and painting pictures with her stories, all smiles and bittersweet laughter. He hadn’t seen her in Circle robes before, but the warm furs and rich fabric laid against her nicely, a deep grey against her skin, and he couldn’t help but wonder where they had come from.

“Arielle, where did you get these?” He finally asked her, running his fingers over the velvet gown she wore, trailing his hand up her waist as they walked onto a balcony to look out over the gardens.  
  
“My trunk. I dug through some of the things I left behind,” she laughed when he twirled her, skirts whirling around her legs. “My clothes were filthy and my boots were destroyed…”  
  
“You were meant for fineries,” he felt every word as she drew closer, pressing her hands to his chest. He could picture her standing before him in a white gown to rival Andraste’s, silks of her cape filtering sunlight, and he nearly lost his steam.

“I don’t need them,” she murmured.

“Arielle... When we’re done… when all this is over…” The way her face softened at his words made his heart ache. “I thought we--”  
  
“Ellie?” His heart dropped at Lisette’s interruption and sunk further at Arielle’s sad smile. “I’m sorry I… it had been so long…”  
  
“That’s fine, I’m sorry I kept her,” he looked to Lisette and found Gavin standing behind her. The strange gleam of mistrust in his eyes chilled his blood. “I’ll see you downstairs.” He turned to Arielle.  
  
“Of course,” she nodded, touching the side of his face and holding his gaze. “I love you.”  
  
He wanted to say it back, and desperately tried to, but he bit back the words and left instead.

_Is it selfish to ask? Am I letting my fears get to me again?_

He found Ileana on the first floor of the tower, head bowed with Cassandra. It was strange to him, how ghosts from his past always seemed to appear at precisely the right moment to offer a strange sort of solace, though Ileana only served to remind him of the man he had been warped into after Ferelden.

"I thought you might seek me out," the Queen noticed him and rose, smiling softly.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he bowed low.

"You were interrupting only an argument, Commander, nothing more." dismissed Cassandra . "Have you seen the Inquisitor?"

"I left her with her brother and sister on the fourth floor balcony," he pointed towards the stairs. 

"Thank you," she nodded. "We will speak later, Your Highness?"

"Certainly," Ileana said graciously and watched Cassandra leave. "Fierce, your Seeker."

"She is, isn't she?" Cullen agreed. "Lady Cousland, I--"

"Theirin now, you keep forgetting," she chided lightly. "Ileana will do. We're friends, aren't we?"

 "Yes, I... You consider me a friend? After what happened at the Circle?"

"You were a child whose mind had been warped."

"It is a good thing they listened to you... I would have..."

"You let your past dictate your future, didn’t you?" She mused. "Walk with me, I feel the need to stretch my legs."

He felt like a small boy whose mother had dressed him in unused fineries for a Sunday stroll -- tottering along behind the Hero of Ferelden like an imbecile, humbled by her grace.

"So... what did you wish to talk about?" She stopped on a balcony looking out towards the Ferelden border.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You sought me out because you wanted to talk to me about something. Don't tell me you came for pleasantries and some groveling."

"I... Do not know where to begin."

"Start with our Lady Inquisitor, then? I'm surprised."

"No more than I," there was more truth in his tone than he cared to admit. This woman had seen him at one of his lowest points, had rescued him from himself, and did still find him worthy.

"Tell me about the man you are now. What changed? Leandra?"

"The Champion? You know her?"

"Word gets around when you're married to Alistair."

"Right... King of Ferelden... I'm not sure how he could have become King..." He chuckled. 

"You knew him? Alistair said something to that effect once."

"We trained together before he was conscripted. We were both from Ferelden, after all."

She smiled fondly, "That turned out well for both of you, didn't it?"

"I feel like Alistair got the better end of the bargain."

"King?"

"King, married to the Hero of Ferelden, well respected and liked -- and no withdrawal."

"General of the Inquisition, just as impressive."

"I'm not titled outside the Inquisition. Just a farm brat from Honnleath." He nearly lost his breath thinking of what he’d considered, what he’d nearly said to her.

_She deserves fineries… things I couldn’t provide._

"Married to the Inquisitor sounds pretty impressive?" She nudged.

"I'm... There's... no time to consider that sort of thing."

"You want to."

“She… has given me a chance… that I want to take and I don’t think I could be a very good husband until I prove a few things to myself.”  
  
“What changed?” She asked again, face serious once more.  
  
“Everything. I’m… recovering. I’m trying to become someone I can be proud of through the Inquisition. Everything I did before was horrible, every action I took was a negative one. After you saved me from one hell I was thrust straight into another: a young Templar whose mind had been fractured by a Desire demon, placed under the control of a woman who eventually grew to swear to destroy the mages through any means necessary? Quite an explosive cocktail.”  
  
“You were a mess at the Ferelden Circle. I don’t understand why they would--”  
  
“Because the Templars were misguided. They lost their way decades ago… perhaps they never truly walked a straight path…” He hung his head. “I saw more clearly after Andy. When Cassandra offered me the position with the Inquisition, I… sought a fresh start.”  
  
He fell quiet, sensing her lean next to him on the railing, “You’re a good man.”  
  
“Funny. People keep telling me that, but I do not _feel_ like a good man -- not yet.”  
  
“Do you always argue when people pay you compliments?”

“I’ve been told before that I should take them better,” he cleared his throat.

 

* * *

  

Cassandra climbed the stairs to find Arielle standing between her siblings, taking in their grim faces. 

"What are you thinking!?” Was the first Cassandra heard from Gavin’s mouth, tucking herself around the wall.  
  
“What am _I_ thinking? I come all this way to find you and the first thing you do is yell at me?” Arielle stood her ground, folding her arms over her chest.  
  
“I don’t even know where to begin!” Gavin threw his hand down in fury.  
  
“Gavin, _please_ ,” Lisette stood between them, worrying her hands.   
  
“You killed Templars!”  
  
“I _had_ to!” Arielle seemed blindsided by the statement.  
  
“You _had_ to?! You had to throw innocent lives away on your idiotic quest to be _out and in danger?_ ” He began to pace anxiously, running his fingers through his short hair.  
  
“You mean _free_?” Arielle corrected. “So I could be _free_ and experience the world again?”  
  
“Your supposed freedom endangers the rest of the world, Arielle! Freedom isn’t free if it comes with a cost!”  
  
“ _Everything comes with a cost!”_

Cassandra hadn’t expected the rage that exploded out of the Inquisitor, feeling a bit ashamed of hiding around the corner watching such an intimate exchange.  
  
“So it seems. Convincing Knight-Commander Cullen to leave the Templars and-”  
  
 _“Convincing?_ ” Acid dripped off her words. “What do you know? What do you know, Gavin, beyond the shining armor of the Templars and the tip of your own nose?” Arielle took a step towards him and his hand dropped to his belt, only to find he had no sword. “Cullen left the Templars of his own will! Did you even ask him? Did you speak to him? Or did you just assume that all mages are-”  
  
“ _Temptress_ ,” he spat the word and Cassandra felt a bolt of anger for her Inquisitor. “The Knight-Commander was-”  
  
“Don’t tell _me_ what Cullen was! Don’t try to tell me, without an ounce of understanding, what he did or what he felt or what he thought!” Arielle lifted her voice over his.  
  
“- and now he’s _fucking_ _you_!”

Cassandra heard the crack of Arielle’s hand against her brother’s face, feeling a little gratified after his insults.  
  
“Ellie!” Lisette gasped.  
  
“Listen to me, Gavin, I don’t know when you became this way, but the _Templars_ are not the be-all-end-all of truth and purity. They’re not _evil_ either. Mages aren’t any different.”  
  
“Mages are unnatural,” he spat, eyes growing wide when thunder rolled behind them.  
  
“Are they? Are they so unnatural? Is it natural to be taking lyrium every hour on the hour? Is it natural to be using _magic_ to quell magic? Do you think dispelling is just some trick you wave your hand to do?”  
  
Cassandra held her breath, knuckles aching on the hilt of her sword, and looked up to see Dorian standing in the shadows just a few feet from her - face grim. They were from two different sides of the fight, so to speak, but she had a feeling their minds were the same when his honeyed eyes met hers.  
  
Indoctrination was powerful, Cassandra knew that, but that didn’t mean the boy’s words didn’t hurt. The drugs that flooded his veins with each dose kept him on the edge of madness, kept him leashed to the hands of the Chantry, but he had _made_ the choice. A choice he would have to bear.  
  
Arielle, on the other hand, had been sheltered and protected before jumping out the door into the wilderness to fend on her own. She may be the Inquisitor now, she may even be a capable warrior with a war under her belt, but she was still a mage at heart and the threats and oppression she had faced were not so far from her mind. 

“ _Blood of the covenant_ ,” Dorian mouthed and Cassandra nodded.  
  
“I just don’t understand why you’re doing this! Why are you being so reckless and careless with other peoples’ lives? Why are you so selfish?”  
  
“Why are you yelling at me about someone you barely know!”  
  
“I served under him! I watched him _lead._ ”  
  
“You saw a shadow! A shell of a man that hated what he’d become! Yet you have the _nerve_ to try and tell me what he is? What is this really about? Why are you _really_ yelling about all this?”

Gavin made a pained sound and gave an abortive gesture, stalking back towards the doorway. He stopped short of passing through and Cassandra pressed back further into the shadows, seeing Dorian do the same.  
  
“It’s all so wrong… none of this should have happened. If the mages wouldn’t have rebelled… maybe if the Templars had been stronger or had a better hold… none of this would have happened…”  
  
The way his voice lowered, how the rough edge of his beliefs darkened every syllable, it gave Cassandra _chills_ like fingers up her spine.  
  
“There’s nothing to be done about it,” Arielle turned to her sister. “We can’t fix this is one conversation.”  
  
“Give him a _chance,_ Ellie.”  
  
“This isn’t about me, Lettie. He’s wounded and on the run from people that he once called _brothers_. This is something he’ll take months recovering from.”  
  
“What about Cullen? Couldn’t you have-”  
  
“I will not ask Cullen to step outside his comfort zone, nor risk Gavin’s temper,” Arielle frowned. “Gavin we are leaving tomorrow and you can either come with us or leave.”  
  
“What are you talking about? Of course he’s coming with us!” Lettie’s voice cracked as she walked to their sibling.  
  
“No! If he’s going to continue to act like this, then I can’t let him endanger my mages… _or_ my Templars. I have to make decisions based on the future of the Inquisition, not _just_ because you want me to, Lisette,” Arielle dismissed and started for the door.

The Inquisitor passed, a cold breeze following her, and if she noticed Cassandra or Dorian she gave no sign - stalking down the stairs with her gown flowing behind her.  
  
“How could he do this to me?” Cassandra tilted her head, listening once more. “How could someone leave?”  
  
“I don’t know, Gavin, maybe-”

“What do you know?!” He raged at his sister, filled with aggression once more. “Leave me be!”  
  
Lisette lingered a moment, watching her brother slam his fist against the stone of the balustrade, then turned to walk away.  
  
“I’m sorry, Gavin. I… don’t seem able to understand either of you… but I love you both. I love you both and I want you to be happy. I’m here… for you…”  
  
He made a disgusted sound and Cassandra’s heart broke to see Lisette’s eyes shatter - tears overflowing - before she took off down the hall.  
  
“It’s not fair. IT’S NOT FAIR!” His fist hit the marble again, voice broken and ragged. He said it again and again, slamming his hand down over and over until she could hear bone meet stone. Cassandra felt ill, covering her mouth and leaning her head back against the wall behind her.  
  
There was something terribly sad about the spiral of madness, the descent into anger and fury that couldn’t be controlled, and she pressed prayers to her fingers - wishing for peace for his turbulent soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That picture of **[the Lady Arielle](http://thingsishouldntbedoing.co.vu/post/103867363949/i-had-a-few-questions-about-what-exactly-arielle)**.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at **[jocunditea](http://jocunditea.co.vu/)**.
> 
> I'm tracking the tag **fic: the summer's flower** if you want to keep an eye on it!


	21. Just to the time, not with the time exchanged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! So I had a huge writer's block for this fic for the longest time and now I've got three chapters down! Hope you guys enjoy! :)

“What Maker would allow any of this? Why am I alone?” The words struck a chord in her heart; as any sound of broken faith would, and she glanced to Dorian, face now grim in the shadows. She braced her back against the pillar behind her - taking a heavy breath - and dug her heel into the stone beneath her. If she would have looked she might have seen the dawning comprehension on the Mage’s handsome features.  
  
“Cassandra _no_ ,” he hissed but she was already turning and stalking out onto the tiled patio.

Now was not the moment for hesitation.  
  
“You are _never_ alone when the Maker guides you,” her voice bounced off the walls of the tower, bright and sharp, before she could register her own thoughts.  
  
“Seeker Cassandra!” The Templar jerked his body around, hiding his injured hand behind his back. “I… didn’t… how long have you…”  
  
“Long enough. Do not let this shake your faith.” She approached. “You are a _Templar_. Sworn to protect Mages and those they might harm… yet you fear them?”  
  
“They kill us without cause!”  
  
“Without _cause_?” Cassandra felt ire bloom in her chest - hot and virtuous. “The Templars lost their way and turned against their charges?! This Inquisition is meant to guide them - to give them another chance… yet you risk it over your own fears?”  
  
His lips parted, lavender eyes liquid, and in him Cassandra finally saw his sister - his sister whose face had slackened upon learning of the destruction of the Conclave, the one who had mourned the loss of every soldier under her command, the one who had suffered ills that would have broken lesser peoples.

“There have been tragedies on both sides of this ridiculous war… but now is not the time to carry old grudges.”  
  
“Blood is thicker than -”  
  
“Yes, yes, blood of the covenant is stronger than the water of the womb… but the power of the Inquisitor unites _all_. Arielle is no longer simply a _Mage_ … she has become a symbol and you must either ally with her or fall to ruin. She will change the political and religious landscape of Thedas.” Cassandra jabbed her finger against his collarbone. “You cannot be _selfish_ now. We _cannot_ afford it.”  
  
“What will she _change_? How will she change it? She’s a _mage._ She has an army of misguided believers and a fallen Templar at its head I -”  
  
“Arielle has told you not to speak ill of Cullen. I will warn you again. I will not be as kind as your sister,” Cassandra towered over him, face dark. “He has done what few can and he struggles every day with it - I will not have you doubting him.”  
  
She had never been good at negotiation and the tension in the hard lines of her shoulders, the ache of the muscle at her spine, told her that she had not become any better under Arielle’s tutelage - but that seemed to matter little to the lectured. Gavin looked upon her with a mystified sort of devastation, eyes wide and hands clenching and unclenching with uncertainty.  
  
“I… don’t understand.” He relented.  
  
“I doubt anyone does.” She sighed and reached out to grip his shoulder. “But you must not falter. You must let his hatred go. Go speak to Cullen, speak to your sister, talk to _Dorian_ if you must. Learn from them. Understand them. You have been sheltered and indoctrinated - as any of us are - and if you do not question what you have been taught how can you know it is _Truth_?”  
  
“Did you… question it, Seeker?” His gaze sank deep into her, the same timeless wisdom in his eyes that she had seen in his sister - the ageless gaze of one that had looked into the face of death and returned. “Do you ever question your faith?”  
  
“Never. I am nothing without my faith in the Maker.” She answered resolutely, but the tail end of her sentence died on her lips. “Everyone questions, Gavin, because we are human. We make mistakes and stumble and fall… but you mustn’t let those failures shake that which we know to be true.”  
  
“I… think I need to be alone for a while, Seeker, but thank you.” Gavin murmured.  
  
“I will be alone with you, then,” she leaned on the marble railing and looked out over Ostwick.  
  
He snorted and her heart lifted slightly to hear a sound of derision - he was feeling well enough to laugh at least.

There was quiet between them for a long while, the comfortable silence of two mortals who understood what being reborn felt like, and as she looked out over the silvered hills of the Free Marches he began to speak:  
  
He told her stories of his childhood and recounted grand adventures he’d had tagging along with his sisters with fondness in his voice. She felt the loneliness that had sunk deep into her old bones recede slightly, like the cold light of the moon chased by the warmth of the morning sun. Storytelling eased him, losing himself in what _had been_ made the realities of the _now_ easier to bear, and she found herself lost along with him.

She had always loved stories, had found a comfort in them, and Gavin told them with a panache rivalled only by Arielle. She wondered, as she had with Arielle, what their lives would have been like without the meddling of the Chantry… She saw in him hopes and dreams that had been crushed into pieces by the devastation of losing his fellow Templars - and losing his sister.

He was angry, as if Arielle had wronged him somehow, and as he spoke Cassandra came to understand - his hatred had been a slow spiral. He had loved his sister dearly and had lost her, as if she had left and died, as if she had never loved him in return, and it had ruined him. Seeing her now, a fully fledged mage had broken the idea that she had been just as badly hurt. Seeing her with someone he had once respected, now blatantly ignoring all the laws that he had been raised under, and casting off the burden of being a Templar that they had both borne so righteously… yes Cassandra could understand.

However, in the moments between, when he fell into contemplative silence, she might have sworn she saw him age… as if the brashness of youth was beginning to crack. His words grew steadier, movements slowing in the cool night air, and a peace fell like a mantle over his shoulders.

In those moments she knew she had done the right thing. Perhaps it had been brash, perhaps others with more wisdom and more patience would have given him the chance to stand on his own… but as she now knew - standing on your own was not the only way. She had fought beside Arielle and the others long enough to know that she could not fall with them by her side.

And they would not fall with her by theirs.

 

* * *

 

Sleep was a gift, the warm fingers of dreams spread over her skin and drew her close and eased her troubled mind. She had always relished the precipice, the breath before the leap, the drop into her dreams when her body relaxed and her thoughts dropped off.

What came after was even better, most times, especially on nights like this one where no dreams found her and heavy slumber weighted her limbs and numbed her mind. Unfortunately the relief was brief; something jarred her awake, like a flash of lightning in a pitch black room. 

She sensed his panic, likely what had woken her, before she was fully conscious and forced her eyes open to find Cullen twitching and sweating in his sleep, eyes tight, voice ragged and faint - caged in a nightmare’s hold.  
  
“Cullen,” she caught the side of his face. “Cullen wake up.”  
  
“No… _no please no_ …”  
  
“Cullen wake up it’s… it’s only a dream…” She said softly.  
  
“ _Get away from me_ …” He shuddered, muscles tight under the fabric of his tunic, striking out feebly.

“ _Cullen!_ It’s me! It’s Arielle!” She caught his hands, feeling the hard edges of his tendons and the fragile bones of his wrist beneath her fingers. “You’re only having a nightmare.”  
  
She had never been afraid of Cullen before. She had seen power in his hands and weight in his blade, but she hadn’t considered that those would be turned against her until a hand too strong for her to defend against had wound around the exposed flesh of her throat and coiled there like a noose.

“Cullen…” her hands quaked on his wrist and his grip tightened, her throat collapsing under the vice of his fingers. “Cullen!” She struggled, clawing desperately at his arm. _Oh Maker I’m going to die!_ She fought for air, body convulsing as she struck out against her lover’s body-

“Arielle!”  
  
She sat upright with a jolt, colliding with something so hard sparks flashed in her eyes and left her blinking stupidly at the resounding _crack_. A low groan drew her attention and her rapidly returning vision focused on Cullen kneeling over her with his hands over his face.  
  
“I’m not…” her hands sought her throat and found it intact and undamaged, the beginnings of a headache creeping into her thoughts. “Cullen?”  
  
“I’m starting to hate the sound of my own name,” he said with a nasal intonation. “Andraste preserve me! You’ve broken my nose!”  
  
“I’m sorry!” She pried herself from under her blanket and knelt, catching his face in her hands. “Tilt your head forward and… I can heal it I’m… I could get Dorian. Let me get Dorian.” She started off - the momentary distraction a relief.  
  
“No, I’m alright,” he caught her wrist. “It’s the middle of the night let him rest.”  
  
“He can wake up for this!” Blood fell into his open palm and unease clutched at her heart.  
  
“ _Arielle,_ I’m fine. He’ll just bitch about beauty sleep the entire time. You can heal a broken nose right?”  
  
“I’ve never _tried_.”  
  
“Will you please? Before I die in the most embarrassing manner possible?” He pleaded.

“Of course,” she sat back down and drew power to her fingertips. “This doesn’t look good, I’m so sorry…”  
  
“You couldn’t have known. You were dreaming. I shouldn’t have been leaning down so close.” He squeezed his eyes closed as her hand neared.  
  
“This healing magic is only going to do so much. You’re a tough patient,” she eased into conversation when he dropped his clean hand onto her thigh for reassurance.

“Thank the lyrium. Every day more and more _perks_ seem to arrive.”  
  
In the quiet she could hear his breathing, even and steady, and feel the slide of his fingers over the fabric of her leggings. The minutiae indicative of his faith in her - despite what pain she caused he knew she would make it right. _This_ was _her_ Cullen. Her Cullen trusted her to a fault, her Cullen tempered his strength into soft caresses, _her_ Cullen flinched when the cartilage of his face settled back into place.

He didn’t wind his hands around her throat and crush the ridges of her esophagus until all she knew was darkness and broken gasps.  
  
“This place is hurting you,” he murmured.  
  
“I thought it would be _you_.”  
  
Her honesty shocked even herself and she drew her hand away.

She had once thought moonlight to be cold and unforgiving, but on him it was almost welcoming - pooling about him and gathering against his skin as if he was made of naught but silvered starlight, like an ancient king mantled in gems and fox furs. Here and now it was calming, a chill that soothed the burnt edges of her nerves and humbled her before him.  
  
“I’m sorry, Cullen, I…” The warmth of his hand enveloped hers and pulled it back.  
  
“Don’t be sorry. You’ve been strong for so long, for so many people, I’m not surprised coming back here has affected you so.” The kindness in his eyes struck her deeply, fisting itself around her heart until she was breathless and shaking. “You make jokes and ease our fears, but at night the dreams come. I told you that I hear what you say. I told you I wanted to come here for _you_.”  
  
This explained why he had sought her out while she showered, why he had barely left her side since she had returned from her conversation with Gavin and Lisette, why he had been adamant about sleeping by her side in the tower.

He had been worried about _her_ while she had been worried about _him._ She had heard him say it, again and again, but somehow it had never registered - many people worried about her but never with such unguarded and unadulterated selflessness.  
  
“Lisette didn’t send you to find me,” she choked out and his face sank in apology.  
  
“No.”

“I was wrong then… in the showers.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“That’s why… you just changed the subject…”  
  
“Someone has to beat you at your own game.”  
  
“And when you were asking me about my life I…”  
  
“I didn’t want you to think about all the bad that had happened. I wanted to protect you.”  
  
She felt a strange sort of joy bubble up in her chest and she sat back from him, shoulders sinking into exasperation. He had outmaneuvered her. _Again_.

“I had been worried… that your coming here would affect you. I’d been so focused on that…” She searched his face. “I’d been so focused on _your_ past.”  
  
“Arielle, I’ve started to let those things go. They can only hurt me if I let them, you showed me that, but _you_? You, on the other hand, don’t know how to take your own advice.” His fingers stroked over the inside of her arm. “You reached a point where it was important for you to come here… but I don’t think one nightmare in the Fade prepared you for being here again. I wanted you to know that you were strong enough to face this, but that you didn’t have to face it _alone._ ”  
  
She hadn’t _really_ listened to him before. She had avoided a real conversation, a real discussion, because _fear_ would be her downfall. Fear would keep her from moving forward. _Fear_ brought her to her knees in a way nothing else in the world could. She had lived and breathed fear - she didn’t want to feel it anymore.  
  
Yet fear seeped into her dreams and held her in its clutches - merciless and destructive.

“I made mistakes on the trip here… I shouldn’t have yelled...”  
  
“I thought it would be you,” she pressed the words through the knot in her throat, blinking away the burn in her tired eyes. “I didn’t think… I thought I was…” Her lips failed around the word ‘ _stronger’._  
  
His embrace was welcome and warm, one arm around her waist and the other hand coiling into the hair at the nape of her neck until she was burying her face into the crook of his neck to fight down tears.

“Strength doesn’t always been fighting by yourself. You know that.” She nodded against his skin, cradling her hand against the back of his head. “You _are_ strong. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Elle, and being afraid doesn’t mean you’re _weak._ ”  
  
“You let me use you.” She said hollowly.  
  
“Ah well… that was… a little selfish. On my part, anyway. I _am_ human and you are, after all, very beautiful.”  
  
She choked on her laugh and it emerged as a groan, warped by the tears that had begun in earnest.  
  
“I hate crying.”

“It’s good for you,” she heard the amusement in his voice and decided to make him repent for such a transgression _later_. For now she settled against him and cried until the pain subsided, until she was left empty and raw and cold, until the moon had fallen and the first pink hues of sunrise had crept through the windows.  
  
Her fear of this place had warped her relationship with someone she loved, had turned him into a monster in her dreams, and had finally led her to release; to the first _real_ moment of peace and acceptance since the Conclave.

She hadn’t known she’d needed such a thing. She had been fighting for so long, pushing back against the shadows that crept into her mind, that she had forgotten that she was _human._ She had thrown herself into a war she knew little about, had taken on the mantle of _Herald_ , and had begun to pick up what few pieces of herself she’d held onto after the Conclave.

Yet through all that she had lost some of herself. She had become so focused on other people, or perhaps she had chosen to be that way - it was easier, after all, to focus on the troubles of others in the place of your own - to save herself. She had been so focused on everyone else that she had missed something incredibly important…

That he was here.

That he saw her as something _more_ than just the Inquisitor, more than just the Herald, more than just a means to an end. She had thought it before, had let it pass through her thoughts, but here was the truth laid before her - not even she could ignore that. 

Just as she saw in him the potential for greatness, he saw her as a _woman_. A human being trying to bear the weight of the world.  
  
All the times he had fretted over her - in Haven when she had been weak, after her battle with Corypheus when he had stood like a sentinel outside her tent, after the Fade when he had held her close and danced with her despite his awkward excuses, and all the moments in between when he had taken her in and cared for the deepest wounds of all - had been because of his devotion.  
  
He hadn’t cared for her because he wanted something else to focus on. He had cared for her _despite_ his own pain. He had shared her burdens without her knowledge, and bore the weight of his own while she toiled away - waiting for the day that she would be able to embrace her own sadness, by her side until she needed him to give way and allow her to mourn.  
  
He had let her push her fears onto him and suffered under the weight of them, assured that in time she would recover. He had believed so wholly in her, as she had believed in him, and that revelation had given her the strength to begin her journey to acceptance, as she had once given him the same.

He had seen the fear in her; the fear of failure, the fear of letting everyone down again, the fear of losing _everything_ … and still thought her strong.


	22. So that myself bring water for my stain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had left someone behind to die before.
> 
> That had been her decision too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Another chapter? Now I'm just spoiling you again.
> 
>  **There's some art for this fic now!** [Here](http://sketchingsparrow.tumblr.com/post/109593404439/sketch-commissons-for-jocunditea) and [here](http://freyleif.tumblr.com/post/106005261986/the-wolf-whistles-and-cheers-came-from-every-edge).

He had sat long into the night by the Seeker’s side, until the morning light had unfurled like a banner against the night sky, and his eyes burned when he blinked. The patio they had been on had turned frigid and windy, the skin of his face tight and chapped.

"You should rest," her voice reached him through the haze and he jolted awake.

"No, I'm..." He almost protested but arguing with a Seeker seemed inadvisable, especially one with a reputation like Cassandra Pentaghast. "Yes, Madame Seeker."

"Can you stand? I shouldn't have let you sit out here this long," she made to pull his arm around her shoulders. "That won't work."

"I'm fine, Seeker, thank y-whoa!" She swept him off his feet with ease. "Seeker, this is-"

"You're light. I suppose Templars _are_ mortal under all that armor." She said with a dry humor on her voice.

"Yes, we... do come out of the suits on occasion." He said sheepishly. Being carried to bed by a Seeker hadn't been at the top of his list of 'things that turned him on' but here he was; with her grim face cast sharp in grey sunlight and the strength of her arms beneath him... And the warm admiration that settled deep into the pits of his belly. She had stood beside him while he poured his heart to the sky, had counseled him when he was lost - those were enough to make him want to follow her. Maybe not his sister, maybe not Cullen, but Cassandra he could follow - her orders he could answer without question.

"You are staring. Your sisters do that as well. It is unnerving." He tore his eyes away and toyed with the hem of his tunic in replace. "Is there a reason?"

"A reason we stare?"

"Yes. It is always at me? Unless, perhaps, you stare at everyone in such a way - in which case I am less flattered." He wondered if that was amusement on her voice or if he had just imagined it.

"No. I mean... Yes? No. I'm not sure I understand your question." His heart raced in his chest and he felt a burn crawl up his face when she sighed, the intonation one of utter irritation.

She set him down inside the room where his sister slept and he lingered, searching her face. She was almost as tall as he was, something he had noted while they had spoken, but here it felt noticeable. Here he felt small beside her, with little understanding and little kindness.

"Go to sleep. You're staring again." She told him, face humorless.

"I'm sorry, Seeker!" He saluted without a second thought and crossed to where Ileana sat, awake and alert. "Is she still there?" He hissed.

"I was just about to come find you," the Queen smiled pleasantly, leaning around his shoulder. "She is. I don't think she's leaving until you lay down."

He felt odd climbing into the bed beside Ileana's. It was strange to think that this place had been a Circle, not unlike the ones he'd served in, with Mages and Templars together.

He didn't think it for long because he was asleep before his head hit the pillow - but he did remember the faint sound of Ileana's laughter and a scoff from the Seeker that had carried him.

 

* * *

 

Sitting on the edge of a chaise in an unfamiliar library with an aching face and two black eyes wasn’t the way he’d wanted to spend his morning. He sulked, pushing loose curls back from his face with careful fingers, and cast his eyes _anywhere_ but at Dorian. He was glad he hadn’t let Arielle fetch the Spirit mage in the wee hours of the morning, considering how hard he was laughing _now._ Dorian had decided, despite Cullen’s repeated admonishments, that his badly wounded face had come about from a rough bout of lovemaking… Cullen’s irritation did little to quell that thought.  
  
“Will you just… you are _intolerable_!” Cullen snapped and Dorian snickered beneath his mustache, catching the former Templar’s chin in nimble fingers.  
  
“I would apologize, but I’m having too much fun with you sulking like a wet cat,” he hummed and ran the pad of one finger down the bridge of Cullen’s nose. “So what did happen?”  
  
“Nightmares. This place isn’t good for her.” He stared down a toppled bookshelf, drumming anxious fingers against his thigh. His muscles ached to be stretched and used, sitting for too long put him on edge, and he thought to set the shelves back up and put them back together - anything to keep his mind off the dull ache in his bones.  
  
“Isn’t that why _you’re_ here?” Dorian asked mildly and Cullen felt the warmth of his magic spread over his face. “Commander Raccoon?”  
  
“She has one hell of a hard head. I should have been more careful,” he drew his eyes away from a magic theory book and closed them under Dorian’s ministrations. “She doesn’t deserve this.”  
  
“And I don’t deserve to sleep on the cold ground in the middle of the Free Marches, but we can’t have it all, can we?”  
  
“Petty,” Cullen grumbled.  
  
An uncomfortable silence fell and he could sense that Dorian wanted to say more - that there was something hanging on a silver thread between them, as fine as spider’s silk. It was a pregnant sort of silence, full of words he knew had to be said, but dammed behind tightly pressed lips. _Now_ was not the time.  
  
Arielle had done a good job, he knew that, but it pleased him when Dorian said it. The Tevinter complimented with a mild sort of disdain, as if telling someone else their successes was a chore and hearing his compliment was a delight, especially considering her earlier warnings.

Most Mages he'd dealt with had a speciality. For his part he'd learned to judge a Mage by their chosen craft, though first impressions were a mixed bag. Some, like Arielle, relished the destructive power of fire and ice, still others referred the healing of spirits like Dorian... So when Dorian had specialized in Necromancy it had come as a bit of a shock. Though perhaps he should have seen it coming.

“I wasn’t going to use blood magic.”  
  
The thread broke and the silence shattered, the roar of fortnight of trepidation crashing down like a thunderstorm seeking only to wash away the world.  
  
“You know as well as I do that similar effects can be achieved with Lyrium.”  
  
“I know, Dorian,” his words came on an exhale, belayed by tension. The muscles in his shoulders were immeasurably tight, shifted up towards his ears almost defensively.  
  
“You didn’t trust me.”  
  
Cullen worked his thoughts over, as he had been for weeks, and lowered his eyes from the mage’s face.

He _hadn’t_.  
  
The time he’d spent with Dorian had been a strange joy. The mage’s mischief and devilry sucked him in - freed him from the bonds of servitude, or perhaps loosened them - and the hours they’d spent together had seemed to put them both at ease. The fact remained, however, that he hadn’t trusted Dorian.  
  
His mind had immediately made the leap to _blood magic_. No amount of fear or concern could forgive such a transgression - knowing what he did about Dorian and the family that had terrorized him.  
  
“How can I…”  
  
“I forgive you,” Dorian said, as if it was his life’s duty to heal the repentant. “I know that doesn’t matter much, in the long run, since you don’t forgive _yourself_ easily… but there’s nothing wrong with making a few mistakes in your life, you know?”  
  
“The mistakes I made lead to a lot of people dead, Dorian.”  
  
“See, what did I say?” The mage drew his hand back, the warmth of his magic receding.  
  
“You deserved more,” Cullen told him, fidgeting momentarily calmed. “You _deserve_ more. You know that?”  
  
He watched a strange honesty take Dorian’s features, the mage’s eyes falling away and to the side for the briefest of moments, before it was swallowed up by a haughty toss of his head and a malevolent grin.  
  
“Of course I do! I’m Dorian Pavus, Altus of Tevinter! I deserve a golden throne and diamonds in my hair and all the lyrium I could _dream of_ but we don’t often get what we deserve do we? Sometimes we end up in the frigid backwoods with one of our wealthy redneck cousins for a leader, fighting demons and mutated Tevinter lunatics.” 

“It wouldn’t be so cold if you’d cover up your chest.”  
  
“You wound me.” Dorian thrust his hand against his heart dramatically.  
  
“It would be harder to wound you if your entire shoulder wasn’t exposed.” The former Templar tilted his head, a suggestion.  
  
“You would like me to break your nose again? Is that what you’re saying?” Dorian threatened, lifting his knuckles.

"You might ruin your manicure," Cullen goaded.

"Oh, you're right!. And you're not worth a busted manicure... But watch your back, Commander."

"I don't have to when I've got you." Cullen’s thoughts emerged as words, unguarded and plain.

Dorian's lips parted, true surprise clutching at his features, then he smiled - really, truly smiled. It was a strange sort of joy, manic in nature - and somehow bittersweet… as if it had been too long since someone had given him such an honor.

"That's right. I've got your back." He nodded finally, a little slow, a little uncertain, but there was honesty on his voice and in the stunned slump of his shoulders.

"Sounds like you two have made up?" Varric's voice came from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms folded over his chest casually. "That's good."

"Is something wrong, Varric?" Cullen rose sharply, guarded once more.

"Not unless you count a small army of Red Templars moving against the Trevelyan strong hold as _wrong_?" The Dwarf gestured a hand, examining his fingers in an attempt to appear indifferent.

"Shit. Where’s Arielle?" Dorian asked and looked to their Commander.

Cullen hesitated. Flashes of memory came to him - her broken sobs, the pale dawn against the side of her scalded face, the way she trembled against him like a leaf in a breeze… How could he wake her?

"Get Lisette. Bring Cassandra as well." He curled his hand around the hilt of his sword on instinct, as if it would give him some strength he didn’t possess.

"You aren't seriously-" Varric straightened, brows caving. He could feel Dorian’s eyes on him, but it did little to unnerve him.

"Do as I say, Varric." Cullen said without a hint of indecision.

"I will come," Dorian informed and the Commander turned to him.

"No. You will stay here. Cassandra, Lisette, Varric, and I can handle this." Cullen jabbed two fingers against the mage's chest when he sought to protest.

"You will need Mage support against those monsters!"

"We will be fine. You can join us as soon as Arielle is rested." He said firmly, standing his ground. 

"Don't be stupid about this! Don't be so protective that you can't see what you're doing." Dorian caught his tunic before he could defend and pulled him closer. "She is your leader, not just your lover."

He _knew_ that. He didn’t need to be _told._ That knowledge did little to change his mind, however, even with Dorian’s eyes hard against his and the mage’s cold fury upon him… at least that was what he’d expected. In the end he pushed Dorian’s hand away.

"Varric!" He turned with a lingering glance to Dorian, and found that the Dwarf had barely made it down the hallway - likely heavy with the same thoughts as Dorian. "Belay that order. Wake them all."

"You and Lionheart are gonna make quite the story, you know that?" Varric's voice faded around the corner, leaving Cullen staring at the floor so hard he rather wished it would crumble beneath him.

"He's going to write a book about you." Dorian ran his fingers over his mustache, smoothing a smirk away.

"He has no respect," Cullen dismissed. "I should get her before Varric does." He started out the door, rubbing tension from the back of his neck.

"Cullen. It'll be okay." He heard Dorian take a step towards him, as if to catch him before he left.

"I know." He wished his voice sounded more convinced. “I’m sorry, Dorian.”  
  
He took the turns of the tower with ease, considering that this place shouldn’t have really been called a _tower_. It was an ancient castle with hallways that made little sense, yet his feet carried him straight to the room he’d stayed in the night before - an angular box with small, inset windows and heavy velvet curtains.  
  
He found her as he had left her, dead asleep one of the beds with her long hair strung out down her back, face buried in a pillow cradled by her arms. Standing in the ruins of her past life, having watched her right books and chests and armoires as they’d walked through the halls, having listened to the stories she had so easily offered, he swore that he wouldn’t let this happen again.

Not to him. Not to her. Not to anyone.

 

* * *

  

She woke when he walked in, the faintest complaint escaping through her nose and into the fabric of her pillow. Her eyelids were heavy and burning, body warm and unmoving, but she uncoiled her arm to reach out to him, cracking an eye to see him standing beside her bed.

"I know you're tired, but we need to go." He said gently and caught her fingers, walking closer. "Come on."

"What's wrong?" Concern seeped into the dulled edges of her mind and she lifted her head, scraping her nails against the side of her mouth to free a strand of hair from her lips.

"Red Templar forces have moved in on your family's property.” Cullen’s words were a rush, but they left her dumbstruck. “We need to..."

"Arielle!" Lisette interrupted him from the doorway, boot steps hard on the stone. "I'm going to back up our forces with the Queen and Gavin. Take your team and head to Skyhold."

Here was the Lettie she remembered: the warrior princess whose tactical knowledge rivaled Cullen's, whose decisions were swift and brave, the pride of her father’s life.

The one who seemed to forget exactly who was in charge, here.

"Lettie! I won't be bossed around," Arielle sat up, limbs still weighted by exhaustion. "I'm-"

"Yes, you're the Inquisitor, I know. But this is _Ostwick_. This is _my_ land. I know what you lot have planned and I won't allow it. My men can handle a few bloody Templars with a leader at their helm. I did what I wanted to do. I found you and I found Gavin. I can go home now."

Arielle swung her legs over, swatting Cullen's concerned hand away, "You have mage support here! Don't be stupid!" 

"Gavin and I have already talked about it. We're pushing in with Ileana's support."

"Three people against-"

"You've done it. You and your team moved against an entire castle." Lisette stepped forward, chin high and jaw set. Arielle should have known it was useless to argue.

"With an army at our backs! With trebuchet and sappers and Cullen! With Mages and Templars and archers!" She scolded anyway, standing and clenching her fists. This moment felt familiar, a biting deja vu pinched at her nerves and left her empty.

She hadn't even known about this, hadn't had time to consider it. She could make moment to moment decisions on the battle field... What was stopping her now?

"Lettie..."

"You're exhausted. Your team is exhausted. You're assaulting the Arbor Wilds soon, aren't you? Don't make dumb decisions. Stay here and check the vaults for your Phylactery. I will go with Ileana and Gavin. We will be enough." Lettie stood her ground, arms relaxed by her side. She looked proud, calm, every inch of her a _Trevelyan_. 

"And if you aren't enough?" Arielle voiced her concern, fingers uncoiling. “What if you die?”

"Then we'll die. But come on - Queen Ileana faced an archdemon and lived to tell the tale, right? Not to mention Gavin and I... We're _your_ siblings. We’re Trevelyans, we’ve never backed down from a fight." Lisette stepped closer. “That’s got to count for something, right?”

Five minutes before she had been sleeping, resting for the first time in months, and now she was facing yet another life and death situation. A situation that might leave people she cared about without support. She wanted, desperately, to defer to Cullen - somehow that made the thought easier to bear. Easier to bear because it wasn’t _her_ decision.

She took a steadying breath and ran her fingers through her hair, dizzied by the turn of events.

She had left someone behind to die before.

That had been her decision too.

"We'll join you at the Wilds. If we make it Gavin and I will gather our forces and meet your Army there." Lisette insisted. “We can call on our cousins for support as well.”

"Take Cassandra," Arielle finally said, voice tight.

"What?" Lisette's fire died in her eyes. "Why?"

"Take Cassandra with you, Lisette," Arielle said again. “It’s not a suggestion.”

Cassandra wouldn't let something happen to them. Cassandra was power embodied. She was a force of nature with willpower like a hurricane. She would bring them back safely.

"I'm... Are you sure?"

"On the way back I'll have Dorian, Cullen, Varric, and myself. That's enough. Take Cassandra with you."

Lisette gaped for a moment longer and Arielle failed to meet her eyes, tracing the grout between the tiles as she had many times before.

Fear had motivated her yet again.

"I'll... Inform the others." Lisette finally affirmed her statement, though she lingered in the doorway afterward. 

"Go on. I'm fine." She waved her sister off.

"I love you, Ellie. Don't forget that." Lisette’s voice caved around the words, flooding emotion into each syllable, and they broke the Inquisitor’s heart.

With that she left, leaving Arielle to drop to the edge of the bed and press her tired face into the palms of her hands. She knew there was a storm coming, that bad things were creeping nearer and nearer - and that the indecisiveness that had plagued her since the beginning would be her undoing.

Cullen stood, still as stone, and she almost wondered if he was judging her - if something inside of him disapproved of leaving an entire team without support. It was a thought that had occurred to her before, but if he disapproved in the War Room he made his opinions known without hesitation… Wouldn’t he do the same here?  
  
“I will make sure the others are prepared to leave,” Cullen finally spoke, as if recognizing that she wasn’t going to speak to him, and walked out - leaving her to her tumultuous thoughts and ever-present fears.

_When had this self doubt begun?_


	23. Never believe, though in my nature reign'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes doing the right thing feels more like losing than winning.

Arielle emerged, dressed and prepared, with shadows around her eyes and exhaustion in the lines of her shoulders - but she descended the stairs with majesty. She seemed a solemn spectre, a shadow of herself, as Cullen watched her pass by the library door - still mulling the morning's events over in his mind. She had already made her decision, but now she would have to face Cassandra.

Cullen recognized the irritation and displeasure in Cassandra's features, clenching his hand around the hilt of his sword. He should have volunteered himself to go, but it wasn’t his place to change her mind. Arielle hadn’t asked him to keep her family safe. She had asked Cassandra. He needed to return to Skyhold, to prepare their troops for battle - they could spare the Seeker, as little she liked it. Miraculously  Cassandra’s face softened into understanding, unguarded and warm, and she nodded. Something Arielle had said had convinced her, or perhaps it was merely the duty she felt towards the Inquisitor. The Seeker lifted her eyes to meet his and he steeled his gaze, tilting his chin up - they had spoken earlier, her look was merely an affirmation.

As Arielle watched Cassandra leave, like a forlorn child watching their mother’s retreating back, she made a striking portrait, as she always did - one of mourning and somber regret -  and it wasn’t until the Seeker had vanished entirely that she swayed, turning and making her way back toward the library doors - and him.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she murmured on her approach, tired eyes imploring. He wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for, but he acknowledged it, catching her hand as it rose to touch his face.  
  
“Dorian’s working on putting together the releasing spell.” She nodded in understanding, lingering before him for long enough that he wondered if she was waiting for something in particular.  
  
She seemed disconnected somehow, even when she settled down beside Dorian to help him pour over Circle texts and theory books. She barely looked up, as if she didn’t want to see the world around her, eyes burning holes through the pages beneath her. 

Slowly, as the hours wore on, a light returned from the ashes of her sadness, a self-immolative fury borne of fatigue that burned in her eyes and put color back into her cheeks. She rose and paced around the table, pointing out falsities in Dorian’s statements, an ancient text in the crook of her arm.

He had never seen her theorize before, but it was just as mesmerizing as seeing her in battle.

Dorian met her step for step, their knowledges distinctly different, but Arielle never faltered, never fell prey to a mistake. She had no doubts in her understanding of magic. She had doubts in herself as a leader, as a Herald, but _this_ was a place she could stand on a bedrock foundation. Cullen had never thought of Circle Mages as well read, though he supposed he should have, because she countered Dorian like a master, as well educated and as sharp as should have been expected.

He marvelled at how quickly the Mages worked, especially two powerful Mages like Dorian and the Inquisitor: they made new spells and combined spells and manipulated the ancient, well practiced ones - but now he had a simple understanding of how it happened. Even without staves they were formidable, yet having seen them dissect a Chantry spell and recreate it without the spellbook... Their knowledge and power combined could crumble even the strongest Templar and he felt a strange sort of unease as they passed through the vault doors.

This vault was more organized than the one at Kirkwall had been, octangular with massive shelves filled with potion supplies, contraband armor and enchanted weapons, ancient texts on blood magic and the Old Gods - and the phylacteries.

He spotted the phylactery shelves near the back, the case drawing the eye with some unknowable power - a power it would seem he was not the only one to notice.

"Well... This is interesting," Dorian hummed. "I've never seen so many phylacteries."

"These are all the vials of blood from every mage that has passed through here," Cullen informed. "Arielle's is in here. It should be -"

He watched her wander ahead of them, towards what appeared to be a modest armory, and run her fingers over a series of staves tucked against a wall. She pulled one free and weighed it in her hand.

"Hey Dorian. Catch." She tossed one to him and he twirled it around his hand. "These are beautiful."

"White Ash handle and a steel staff blade - _and_ a master lightning rune. Very impressive," he examined the details with ardor. "Oh goodness. I could drool over this. I didn't know Circle Mages had these kinds of things." He made his way to her side and ran gentle fingers over a set of battlemage robes.

"They don't. That's why they're locked up." Cullen told him, voice humorless. He caught a dim light out of the corner of his eye and made his way toward it - at least this wasn't an arduous task.

"We should take these if we can," he heard Arielle and Dorian chattering over the staves and the battlemage armor gathering dust on mannequins. "For the Inquisition."

"Of course. Because you don't want to try on that armor, right?" Arielle laughed. 

"I most certainly do, but that's besides the point." Dorian mocked offense.

"We're not really here for that, are we?" Cullen reminded and Arielle's face appeared around a bookcase, face smug.

"You want us to help you find it?" She arched an eyebrow, fingers curling around the oak shelf beneath her hand.

"I am perfectly capa- are you?" Incredulity built in his voice. "Are you two putting on that armor?"

"We might be?" Dorian's voice reached him and he turned his head to see a pair of eyes watching him between a series of jars. "Problem?"

"I... suppose not." Though he did mutter ‘ _scavengers’_ under his breath as he passed down another aisle of phylacteries.

When he found it, when his eyes settled on the thing, the sight sent spines of terror through his chest - he knew what these were for, and how they could be manipulated, and the thought of it being used against Arielle nearly turned his stomach.

_"Break the phylactery, Cullen,"_ Cassandra had told him before she'd left. _"Don't let her keep it."_ And her lingering look in the hallway had only reaffirmed her words. He knew, however, that Arielle would do what she pleased. If she wanted him to destroy the thing he would, if she wanted to keep it... Well it wasn't his place to say no. 

With purpose in his movements he dispelled the enchantment on its case, running his fingers over the lock almost reverently. How long had it been since he’d been here? How long had it been since he had given thought to a phylactery or what evils it may hold? His thoughts faltered upon hearing her familiar gait making its way towards him between the aisles of the vault and he nearly dropped the case.

"Cullen!" She emerged around the bookshelf, fastening new vambraces into place. "What do you think?" She cocked a hip with a flourish of her hand.

"Very nice," he complimented, “not very practical armor, though.” He did take a moment to admire the fur-lined neck of her jacket and the polished metal rings at her shoulders - golden against deep purple velvet. "But you'll be warm at least."

“Not very practical,” she scoffed, “I’d like to see _you_ try to spin a staff.” 

“You could try _not_ being such a show off?” He suggested, grinning at the dirty look she shot him.

"The boots are a bit high but... I guess I'll get used to them." She fussed with the beautiful brass buttons, tugging the leather higher above her knees as she spoke. "Have you found it?"

"Yes. Right here," he pulled the box away when she reached for it. "We should destroy it, you know?"

"Maybe..." Her fingers caught the case and tugged it free. "But I could also keep it." Her eyes met his, face filled with familiar mischief, and he felt his foundations shake beneath his feet.

“Why?" He leaned a shoulder against the bookcase in an attempt to appear casual, but a brief panic when his pauldron slipped sent a blush into his cheeks. She always managed to unsettle him. “Elle?”

She didn't answer immediately, pulling the chain free of its container and letting the charm spin in front of her eyes, face contemplative. The vial set in the center shone brightly in the dim light of the vault, almost blinding in its intensity - so close to its pole that it nearly hummed.

"Why wouldn't you destroy it?" He insisted.

"I... I don't know. It's a piece of my history I guess..." She curled her fingers around the thing, pressing it to her heart. "I need to think about it."

"Keep it for now. Who knows? Maybe you'll find a use for it." Dorian’s voice drowned out his own when rounded the corner finally, tucking the riding skirt of his robes around his belt as artfully as Arielle had.

"Maybe." She met Cullen's gaze and he wished she could read his mind. He wanted to protest, to insist that it be destroyed to remove any risk... but before he could she had hooked the fine chain around her neck and tucked the phylactery beneath her collar.

If it was with her, safe beneath her armor, there was no reason to fret, right?

 

* * *

 

"I can see then from here," Dorian told her as they crested a hillock, squinting through the blinding sunlight.

Their leaving had been a strangely emotional one for her, and though she hadn't spoken a word of it she knew her companions were aware of it. She knew because Cullen had helped her onto her horse, because Varric had called her _Arielle_ , because Dorian had helped her place a sealing spell on the building - no Red Templar would enter it without serious consequences.

She had stood longer than she cared to admit, lingering in the ruined gardens and running her fingers over the cool stones of the entry - memorizing the building that had been her home. Cullen had watched, silent and still as a statue, as she used magic to clear the snow and ice from the graves, hastily dug and hastily marked by Templars burying their fallen brethren, and drew life from the soil to fertilize seeds she knew would grow in the summer.

Varric, for all his disconnected swagger, had offered a few words in the gray spring air… no prayers or incantations, but the gentle words of one who had loved and lost - words meant for Arielle and Cullen more than the spirits of the dead. Dorian had stood by, face grim, but made no criticism of the Circles or their practices beyond those he had already voiced.

As she fell back to watch her siblings vanish over the ridge, brows knitted, her heart sank. The disconcerting sound of creaking leather reached her ears as her hands balled into fists around her reins. She was leaving them behind, and while they were in good company with Ileana Theirin and Cassandra... And strong warriors in their own rights... She couldn't help but feel like she was sending them to their ends.

She couldn’t help but feel that she was abandoning them.

"Queen Ileana won't die. And Cassandra won't let them get hurt," Cullen told her, slowing beside her. "They'll be fine."

"I just got them back," Arielle finally tore her eyes away from where they had vanished, searching the tree line below. "After all these years I finally had my family again. Now I'm sending them off to war again."

"You're not sending them. They chose this. To help you, to save you."

"Maybe I don't want saving all the time? Maybe I should be the one saving them? I'm not-" her voice died on her lips and regret flooded her chest. 

"I'm... sorry. That was poorly worded." Cullen shifted in his saddle, stretching his legs. "There's nothing wrong with being saved though, you know?"

"I know that... But I'm the Inquisitor. I'm supposed to be doing the saving."

"And you _are_." He didn't voice his concern, but he didn't have to, she heard in his tone and saw it in his face.

"You're right." She didn't want to chase her tail again, guiding her mare down the path. "Doesn't always feel like it does it?"

"No. Sometimes doing the right thing feels more like losing than winning. I can tell you that." His horse moved when hers did, trotting after her. 

She wasn't sure why those words struck her so hard but she couldn't keep them out of her head as they rode out of Ostwick. 

 

* * *

 

"How much farther is it?" Ileana said and Cassandra shrugged.

“I’ve never been this far into the Free Marches before.”  

“Not far now!” Lisette answered their concerns, looking over her shoulder at them. “I’m so excited for you to see the manor! At least if it’s still standing.”

“Don’t say things like that, Lisette,” Gavin warned.

They had been riding for almost a day without so much as a peep from the Red Templars and Cassandra was becoming uneasy. Arielle’s order had been swift and there was little she could do to question it besides grumble about being separated under her breath.

_“You must do this for me, Cassie,”_ Arielle had said. _“I trust you. I need you to bring my family back safely.”_

Cassandra had taken note of the shadows around her eyes, faintly gray beneath her tan skin, and had felt little need to argue. The decision had already been made, and she was a woman of duty.

“Seeker!” 

Of course there were perks to traveling with Arielle’s family, besides the fact that the Trevelyans were well connected within the Chantry, and that she was now in temporary company with the Queen of Ferelden. Gavin had taken quite the liking to her, falling back to her on his horse from time to time to ask her questions and tell her about some little house they’d passed by. 

He’d already promised to show her the orchards when they arrived, eager as a child.

“One of my childhood friends used to live there!” He pointed. “We joined the Chantry together. We were separated after our training, though, I think he ended up in Val Royeaux.”

He looked healthier than he had when they had met, cheeks red and eyes bright, and he wasn’t favoring his wounds as severely. Dorian had offered to speed his healing, and with a little coaxing from Lisette and Ileana he had agreed - much to his benefit it would seem.

“I had a friend like that,” she smiled fondly.

“You have a nice smile. You should smile more,” his words had her face sinking back down into a scowl, but they reminded her of the innocence of Cole - kind and gentle. “I’m… sorry I mean I understand if you…” He brushed his knuckles through his mount’s mane. “Anyway I… guess he died at the Conclave.”

“Why were you not at the Conclave?” She asked, gripped by curiosity. He had been at Kirkwall, Cullen had made her aware of that, and it seemed strange that he wouldn’t have been at the Temple - especially considering his family’s status.

“Well I uh…” He flushed scarlet, a becoming color for him, and she bit off a laugh with a scoff. “I was doing stuff.”

“Stuff? Well, that explains everything,” Cassandra said dryly. “What were you doing while your brothers were being turned to ash?”

He fiddled with his saddle, running the pad of his finger over the fine edge of it. He had replaced his armor from the Templar stores in the Ostwick Circle and she thought it rather suited him - polished to a high shine over crimson velvets and leathers. 

With guidance, he could be a _great_ Templar. He was the future of the Order, young enough to break from the Lyrium, old enough to become a leader - and with the connections to make him one. She wasn’t as crafty or as intelligent a negotiator as Josephine but she was almost certain that with Arielle and Cullen’s subtle influences on Gavin he would become a _valuable_ asset.

_“She would make you Divine.”_ Cullen had said as they sat beside Arielle’s bedside. _“I would support you.”_  

There were many strong, noble Templars in the Order - and many good Seekers that had lost their way - but Gavin was a chance for a fresh take, if she could manage to change his mind. He was obviously willing follow her, willing to fight by her side, and his faith was strong.

“Now _you’re_ staring,” he said smoothly and her eyes widened.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She scolded and looked ahead to find Ileana turned slightly in her saddle, chattering to Lisette. They spoke like old friends, and upon further consideration it was _very_ likely that they were. The Couslands and Trevelyans were powerful families with noble lineages traced back to Andraste’s time and it wasn’t unlikely that they’d met as children or as adults.

“You never answered my question,” she tried to shake herself from her thoughts.

“Ah… I was visiting a friend.” He winced, as if it pained him to admit it aloud.

“A _friend_?” She asked critically, tilting her shoulder in toward him.

“Yes Ser.”

They passed into a copse near the edge of the ridgeline, trees heavy with early spring blossoms that would freeze and fall away with the next cold front, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

“He was injured at Kirkwall and I…” he hesitated on his words again. “I regret what happened there.”

“Many people do, you are not alone,” she turned in her saddle to look behind them, feeling the shadows closing in.

“Seeker? Is something wrong?” She heard a quiet fall over the women in front of them at his words.

“The Red Bastards,” Ileana said before Cassandra even opened her mouth. “Go!” None of them needed to be told twice, heeding the Queen’s warning and charging through the thatch of trees. 

Cassandra pulled her sword free and heard Gavin do the same above the heavy hoofbeats of panicked horses. Lisette, in the lead, held her bow down to her side, a bundle of arrows clutched in her bow hand, but Cassandra was surprised to see Ileana pull free a beautiful bastard sword from her saddle - wickedly sharp and intricately engraved. The head of the pommel bore the gilded Theirin seal - and it was finely weighted if the ease of Ileana’s movements were anything to go by.

It was a sword worthy of a warrior Queen, no doubt given by her husband - _oh_ what Cassandra wouldn't give to weigh the thing in her hands.

The first whip of Lisette’s bow drew her back to the present and she caught her first glimpse of the battlefield below them, cresting the ridge above the Trevelyan stronghold.

“ _Maker preserve me._ ” Cassandra breathed, slowing beside the others.


	24. All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alive and free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> protect dorian pavus 2k15

The open land around the manor had been marred by bloodshed, the trees of the orchards Gavin had spoken so highly of now mostly reduced to charred stumps, and Ileana could almost _feel_ Lisette’s disappointment.

She could relate, could understand the feeling of returning home only to find it utterly decimated. A battle had raged here and it wasn’t hard to see that the Trevelyan forces were dwindling - but the last remnants were holding back the siege with vigor.

“ _Templars_!” Gavin gasped. “The Ostwick Templars are here!” His breathless excitement filled the air around him and he nearly spurred his horse down the ravine.  
  
“Gavin! No!” Lisette reached for him but it was Cassandra who caught his plate and pulled him back.   
  
“We have to help them!” Gavin told his sister fiercely, pushing his dark hair back from his face. “If you won’t help, I will!”   
  
“We’re going to help,” Cassandra told him. “We just need to be smart about it.” She glanced up and Ileana found the Seeker’s eyes on her.  
  
“I take it that’s where my expertise is required?” The Queen lifted her chin. “We can handle this.”  
  
She wished, leading the charge down the hill, that Alistair had been there - to ease her nerves by making utterly inappropriate jokes and bragging about her every accomplishment. It was impossible to feel nervous or question her decisions with him at her elbow, crowing about her to anyone that would listen - and harassing those that wouldn’t.

Unfortunately she was alone with Sebastian at her side… caught up in a fight she had hoped to avoid.

 

* * *

 

For hours Arielle let Cullen's words burn. 

Even at the border, when she slowed to say her last goodbye to the castle that had once been her home, she was still rolling his statement on her tongue.

_Sometimes doing the right thing felt like doing the wrong thing._

He had been talking about leaving the Templars, about stopping the Lyrium, about the decisions that he'd made in the Inquisition... Things he knew were good, things he knew were better for him.

She pondered what those words meant for her, looking up into a sky so blue she could lose herself in it. It had been a long time since she had seen a truly blue sky, longer still since she had been able to appreciate it, and somehow it filled her with euphoria. 

Euphoria that she was still alive to see such a beautiful thing. Joy that she was breathing fresh air and taking in the early spring scents of damp honeysuckle and sage brush. Jubilant energy filled her chest and burst out of her in a loud laugh that startled her quiet companions.

She was alive.

The Circle had reminded her of how much she had lost and how much she had yet to do, but she hadn’t realized until now just what she had gained. Somehow it hadn’t seemed real until she was looking back at the Circle for, what was very likely, the last time.

When the war had begun and they had left, running for their lives, it hadn’t felt like a goodbye. It had simply felt like a stalling of the inevitable - the Templars would find them and bring them back and there was no escape for them. When the Conclave had been destroyed, that had been the end of what little chance there was… A waste of life and talent. They would never experience the sun against their faces or casting spells into the sky with abandon or the sheer, exhilarating joy of _freedom_.

Her? She _could._  

Arielle, for this one moment, could embrace the freedom of being outside - of seeing the lilac expanse of sage before her, of feeling the body of her horse beneath her, of magic pushing and pulling from her lungs in a heady rush. Even the chafe of the saddle against her thighs, the burn in her muscles from riding, the ache just between her shoulders from sitting perfectly upright... 

Oh, they were glorious.

She spurred her horse and stood in her stirrups, hearing the shouts of Dorian and Cullen faintly in the distance, and she let herself breathe, freeing her hair from its bindings. There were no ghosts to haunt her here, no old memories, no fears to be felt in the warmth of the summer’s sun. The mare seemed to sense Arielle’s need, stretching her long body beneath her rider, galloping at a dead run down the hill and straight into the blooms with Arielle howling with joy the whole way.

Yes. She was alive. Alive and free.

"Arielle!" Dorian yelled her name. "What are you doing?"

"I'm free!" Her horse slowed and she swung her leg over to sit sideways in her saddle - feeling lighter than she had in days. "I'm free, Dorian!"

She hadn't expected the fresh shower of tears, hot and brief on her cheeks. She hadn't cried this much since she'd left her home as a child - yet here she was again.

"Oh _Maker,_ I'm free! I'll never have to go back! I'M NEVER GOING BACK!" She shouted to that blue sky above her, the one she wanted to lose herself in. "I could ride off into the sunset and never look back! I could-" she summoned a spell in her hands and sent a burst of flame into the sky, the curling smoke trail it left behind fading in the wind. “No one can make me! It didn’t feel real before! There are no Templars to take me back! No Circles to return to!” She tilted her head back again and let the breeze push against her skin and lap at the furs on her collar. “ _Andraste_ … I’m free…” 

It was as if a massive weight had lifted from her shoulders, one she hadn’t known had been there: the inevitable question mark of “ _What would happen after_?” had been answered. After the Inquisition, after they defeated Corypheus, she would make her own fate.

When she finally looked down again she saw Cullen, sitting back in his saddle with watchful eyes, and curiosity within them. She supposed he had never seen such a celebration, nor had she, but the kindness in his features was more than enough to put her at ease.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d lost your mind!" Dorian said, but he was at the edges of her world, his voice an echo against the war drum of her heartbeat.

"I've lost so much," she said breathlessly. “Everyone and everything I’d ever known. You were right, Dorian! Nice little mage prisons with their little boxes and their libraries and their _theory_. _This_ is what we wanted! Freedom!" She gestured to the fields around them. "We just wanted to be free. To taste spring air and feel the sun on our skin. To be free to love and live as we pleased."

She laughed again, a hard, bittersweet laugh that clawed its way out of her with talons like fire.

"I will fight for this. I will fight to keep this." She said resolutely. "Whenever I forget... I'll remember this. This is what they wanted. This is what they died for. Who am I to waste that?”

Her gaze fell on Cullen again, heart leaping at the smile on his face - confident and warm. 

_“You would not lose me. Even if I disapprove… I trust you.”_ He had told her so many months before, when their friendship had been in its infancy. He had trusted her before he had seen her lead an army into battle.  

_“I knew you’d come back. I trusted you, I knew you would find a way.”_ He had sworn his belief in her at Adamant, fierce and loyal.

A thought, however, occurred to her and sank deep into her chest: _“A ship without its rudder…”_ A thought she had pushed back since the siege.  
  
“Arielle?” She looked up to find her companions watching her, the joy that had previously been evident on her features having faded. “Is something wrong?”  
  
 _I made the right decision. I trust Cassandra._   
  
“We should head to Skyhold, quickly,” she didn’t miss the suspicion that crept into her lover’s features.

 

* * *

 

Their return to Skyhold was preceded by a blizzard that slowed their progress up the mountain, raging on once they had crossed the ice-coated bridges and passed back into their normal lives once more - though nothing was quite the same.

She spent much of her first days back running errands around the castle, dealing with nobility that had just arrived and taking care of whatever business and letters that had arrived in her absence - most of it left her little time to do much else beyond sleep.

Finally, after more than three days of preparations for their siege of the Arbor Wilds, she had a chance to visit her friends: seeking Solas' counsel in his office, depositing a few confiscated books into Vivienne's growing collection, and finding Bull and his Chargers in the Tavern with Blackwall and Sera - the group of them cheering at her entrance. She settled down by the fireplace to stretch out her legs and sip mulled wine while being prodded for tales from her trip, comfortable for the first time in a while.

Dorian slunk in and caught her eye as the Chargers roared at one of Sera's stories and she managed to excuse herself, prying her tired limbs up from the comfortable chair she'd fallen into. 

"I thought you were kicking the habit?" She said gently and he scoffed.

"How would I get by in polite company if I wasn't drinking?" He toyed with the glass in his fingers. 

"You know... Mulled wine is supposed to be good for the complexion," she eased into the seat next to him.

"It is also lower in alcohol content." He lifted the tumbler to his lips. "Cheers."

"If you say so. What's got you upset?"

"What makes you think I'm upset?" He set the glass back down. "I'm fine."

She had learned as much about Dorian Pavus as anyone else and then some, even some things he could barely admit to himself, but there were moments like this one that still confused her:

He was quiet for a while, staring at the liquid in his glass as though it might set on fire, the air around them filled with a solemnity that clashed with the jocundity of the tavern before a war march. He wanted to talk, that much she could tell, but as was common with Dorian - he wasn't sure where to start when it came to his personal feelings.

She wished Cassandra had been there, wondering how she was - there was little doubt that the Seeker would crush whatever concerns Dorian had... But as she considered it she realized that _may_ not have been what Dorian wanted - or needed.

"You know... I never thought that... This would mean so much?" He gestured towards her, finally breaking his reverent silence.

"Oh? Well I suppose I'm not much to look at but..."

He laughed, but it was hollow and lifeless, "Do you ever feel like you're treading water, Elle?" He toyed with his shot glass again, turning it in circles. "That... No matter what you do it won't matter?"

"Sometimes?" His use of ‘Elle’ threw her off balance, she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him use the familiar nickname. "Sure I do. Do you?"

"I want to take... All this back to Tevinter but... I don't know how. You're changing things, that's why I wanted to join in the first place, and now I'm wondering..."

She turned in her seat to brace an elbow on the bar, looking at him seriously. He was half lost in his own thoughts, half speaking to no one, but desperately wanted someone to hear him.

"You and Cullen are strong, you know that?" He murmured. “I think you could hold up the world if you wanted to."

"Well we're trying anyway," she wanted to reach out and touch him, to settle whatever dark thoughts had breached his mind, but nursing wasn't what he needed... 

"I only wish I was that strong," he slid his fingers over his mustache. "Elle... How old are you?"

"Twenty seven. Why?" 

"Oh?" There was a strange disappointment on his voice. "I just... Never thought to ask... I'll be twenty five next month." He glanced over at her, "Don't look so shocked, your face might get stuck that way."

She scoffed and dismissed him with a hand, "I just thought..."

"Thought I was older, huh? Yeah people always say that. Wise beyond my years or whatever." A bitterness had sunk into his voice, all pretense falling away for once. "He said he trusted me."

"Cullen. Is this about Cullen?" She lifted her brows. "What did he do? Should I beat him up?"

"As pleasant a thing that might have been to watch... _no_ he didn't do anything... wrong..."

"Well... that's good I don't know if I could take him anyway..." She aimed for a smile but her strike missed and he looked to her with solemn eyes.

"You like me, don’t you, Arielle? Would you like me if..." His words died on his lips. "I've never cared if anyone liked me before... or if they trusted me or wanted me around. I've always been alone. I'm all I've ever needed." He shook his head, not wanting to finish.

"You know if you don't want to talk about it..."

His eyes lingered on her face, lips curling into a smile so bittersweet she wondered if his face might shatter. The bar had grown slightly louder with the addition of a number of soggy Templars and tired soldiers. They trudged in through the snow and brought with them exhaustion and a cold breeze - giving the Mages the privacy they needed.

"I've never been a part of a team or felt like I needed to be... But Cullen told me I..." He faltered again. "I deserved more."

"You _do_ , Dorian."

This side of him was tender, afraid of rejection, afraid of being shut out and ruined again - she knew that much. It was rare to see him hurting on the outside... Likely because drowning the pain in alcohol seemed to suffice.

"Ugh I'm letting myself wax sentimental," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

"We wouldn't be the same without you, Dorian, don't forget that. _I_ wouldn't be the same..." She hesitated. "Love is a hard thing to bear. It tangles up with all the other feelings and it's hard to... Sort them out."

"They rejected you."

She pursed her lips, fingers curling tighter around her wine, "Yes."

"That hurt... But you loved them. You loved them and they turned you away because of what you were... Because they couldn't change you. Do you hate them Arielle?"

"My parents? That's a..." Her laugh was every bit as hollow as his had been. “It’s easier to say you hate them… to pretend that what they say doesn’t hurt.”

"Exactly." He fell quiet again, taking a deep breath, "If you could see them again... What would you say?"

She shook her head, swirling the wine around her glass. Here in the flickering torch light, back in the familiar, Ostwick was desperately far away and her family seemed only a dream once more. Here she had a clear head and solid footing and a chance to rebuild but... 

"I don't know.”

They sat in the middle of the celebration for a long while, and when Dorian rose to leave, kissing the air beside her cheek, she realized the glass he'd been toying with all evening was still full.

 

* * *

 

He caught sight of her leaving the tavern, nearly throwing the clipboard at the scout he’d been speaking to, and ducking out of the way of a snowball. The blizzard had finally calmed, leaving behind knee high snow and drifts taller than his head, and the children of Skyhold were _delighted_.

He made his way towards her, pausing to let another projectile fly past, but Cole reached her first.

"Why is everyone throwing snow?" Cullen heard the spirit ask. Today his hat was knit and brightly colored, crushed down over his ears, and Cullen was almost certain that Sera had gifted it to him.

"It's... just a fun thing to do? You ball up the snow and throw it at each other. Snowball fight." Arielle’s face brightened, explaining the practice with a gentle voice.

"But why?" Cullen wished the snow wasn’t groaning around his knees, but she was so distracted by Cole’s questions that his approach was mostly disguised. “Why would you want to throw ice at people that aren’t hurting you?”

"Because-" He slapped a poorly packed ball against the back of her neck and she shrieked mid-sentence. “WHO!?” She whipped around and Cole looked horrified.

"Because it's fun to make other people suffer," Cullen grinned, lifting his hands innocently as ice slid down the back of her neck. "That's all there is to it."

"Cullen Rutherford!" If he wouldn’t have known better he might have thought she was about to Immolate him.

"But they enjoy it? You enjoyed that!" Cole's eyes widened. His lips quirked ever so slightly, surrounded by joy. “Why would you enjoy suffering?”  


“I didn’t enjoy it!” She was casting before Cullen could run. “You made a mistake, Chantry Boy!”  
  
“ _Hell_ ,” he had, indeed, made a miscalculation in assaulting an ice Mage in the middle of a massive pile of snow. “No!”  
  
“Get back here!” She was close at his heels, or at least the snowballs she’d summoned were, chasing him down through the snow that was hindering his movements. “This is _war_ Cullen you can’t run!”  
  
“It’s not a fair war!” He called over his shoulder, laughter hot on his breath. “I can’t make-” he slowed in his movements and turned to face her, seeing her face sink at his realization.   
  
It was her turn to say _no_ when her snowballs burst into dust in the air.

“What are you going to do now, _Inquisitor_?” Her lips parted, face appalled, and he grinned.

“I’m going to make you _eat snow_ , _Commander_.” She lunged for him, snowball forming in her palm.   
  
“You’re cheating again!” He dismissed her spell with a sweep of his arm.   
  
A snowball hit the back of his head, ice trickling down the back of his neck and into the collar of his jacket. He turned, looking for where it had come from, and found no one.  
  
“Lookin’ for me?” Krem leaned out the window of the tavern, the Chargers howling with laughter behind him. “Gotta watch your back, Commander.”  
  
“And your front!” But Arielle was stopped before she could tackle him, snow exploding in her face. “What the-?”  
  
“I mean… what’s a Commander without backup?” Varric tossed a snowball in his palm, shrugged a shoulder. “Sorry Lionheart.”  
  
“Ooh Varric!” She tossed her hair back from her face in a way that _most certainly_ wasn’t distracting.   
  
“Thanks,” Cullen said a little breathlessly.   
  
“Don’t mention it, Curly, you owe me a game of Wicked Grace.”  


He wasn’t sure _when_ they’d divided up into teams or when the simple snowball fight had evolved into an all out _war,_ but before long the soldiers had joined and the entire courtyard was loud with laughter and joyful screams and all the disquieting, oppressive pre-war silence had dissolved into the twilight air.

In the bright light of the moon Arielle shone, laughing as loud as anyone else from atop Krem’s shoulders - playing Chicken with Blackwall and Sera - and it eased his heart. 

“What’s going on out here?” Dorian asked, walking down the steps to where Cullen sat - winded and resting.  
  
“Snowball fight,” he answered, looking at the mage upside down. “Where have you been? Could have used some backup.”  
  
“Looks like you’ve got enough of that. If you’re not careful we’ll have another Mage-Templar war on our hands. I’d like to not be on the losing side _there_.” Dorian sat down next to him, waving his hand to rid the steps of liquid.   
  
“This is a good war,” Cullen smiled.  
  
“You know I thought your face would break if you smiled… when I first saw you that is? I thought - _this guy got that scar from smiling once._ Now you smile all the time.” Dorian formed a snowflake above his palm, turning it around with the gesture of a fingertip.   
  
“I have a lot of reasons to smile,” he sighed and folded his arms behind his head, leaning back on the steps. “And I didn’t get my scar from smiling.”  
  
“Where did it come from?” Several of Dorian’s snowflakes dropped onto his cheeks as he fought back the yawn that emerged instead of his answer.  
  
“Cullen!” Arielle approached, spikes of ice protruding from her hair like a wicked crown. “Quitting so soon?” She glanced to Dorian before sitting down with them on the steps. “Ugh maybe quitting is a good idea.”  
  
Cullen reached out a hand on a whim and caught the back of her neck, rubbing the tension away, “It’s probably time everyone went and got some rest. We have a long march ahead of us.”  
  
“This was good. This was fun.” She sighed.   
  
“Everyone was getting a bit too serious for my tastes,” Varric said as he climbed the stairs towards them. “Good to see you two acting like people, again.”  
  
Cullen wasn’t sure he appreciated the comment, narrowing his eyes, “We’re always people, Varric.”  
  
“Everyone keeps saying we should be knocked down a few notches,” Arielle told him with a conciliatory pat on his knee. “Serious top dogs that don’t mingle with the masses.”

“I don’t think Cullen knows how to socialize beyond giving orders,” Varric joked.  
  
“I’m perfectly capable of - I am…” his protest died on his lips. “I really don’t know what any of you expect from me.” He huffed, though he did smile at his own expense when they laughed.

Tonight was a chance to take a break. The calm before the storm for all of them - for with the break of dawn they would leave for an uncertain fate.


	25. That it could so preposterously be stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don't leave questions unanswered..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!

_"Do they help?"_ She had asked him as he sat beside Arielle, with prayers on his lips like worn roads travelled in the dark, waiting for her to wake from her nightmares, _"Even with all that happened back then?"_

He remembered looking up to see the Seeker's face cast into sharp relief, dropping his hands between his knees.

_"They didn't help me either,"_ she had looked away, allowing an admittance he wouldn't have thought to hear from her. _"After the Conclave exploded I..."_ Her voice trembled. _"I know your plight, Cullen. You asked me if I would kill her and you said that I was strong..."_

_"To take the life of someone you love... Is a choice I'm not sure I'm strong enough to make."_ He had said and watched her shift her shoulders, turn her body away from him. _"Seeker?"_

_"I couldn't do it… If I were... In your shoes I..."_ She scoffed, bitter and harsh. _"I always seem to love too hard and forgive too easily... If I... Oh Maker why now?"_ She shook her head, voice shattering.

_"Seeker?"_ Her sadness had taken his breath away and he reached for her. _"Cassandra I... Don't understand?"_

_"Hold her close, Cullen,"_ she murmured. _"Don't... Hesitate to tell her how you feel. Don't leave questions unanswered..."_

Her words came to him now, riding alongside the company as they passed into the Arbor Wilds, and his eyes sought out Arielle's form - walking and leading her horse as she spoke to the soldiers, easing their fears with her joyful laughter.

Cullen had never come to understand just what it was she had spoken of, or why he saw emotion in her beyond her usual aggression - something about Arielle’s fitful slumber had woken it in her - but even now she haunted him.

What would he say? What questions did he have that had gone unanswered? He was sending her into the unknown again, and this time he wouldn’t be by her side. This time she would be far out of his reach with Morrigan as her guide, stepping into old magic and older ruins. This time he would have to be sure that she knew what he wanted her to know.  
  
 _Morrigan_. He couldn’t say he enjoyed the way the Witch of the Wilds had wormed her way into Arielle’s council. The Inquisitor had come to trust her, to speak highly of her, but Cullen had seen her during the Blight and knew of the tales of her… 

_Ileana had trusted her as well_. He had to remind himself. Ileana and Arielle were strong, intelligent women that he trusted with his life - certainly they wouldn’t _both_ fall prey to the same trap?

Do we have a future? He wondered. Arielle laughed under his gaze, tossing her hair, flaxen in the sinking sun. Her curls caught the light, each strand glistening like gossamer threads, and he wondered if she knew how stunning she was. That was something he could tell her, he smiled, but so many words weighed heavy on his mind.  
  
 _"Married to the Inquisitor sounds pretty impressive?"_ Ileana had said. Had _suggested_.

He had rebuffed it as a stupid idea. He loved her, and had told her as much, but thinking too far in the future was almost painful. Neither of them knew what would come the next day, even if they knew they wanted to be together, but that didn’t stop the curiosity.

_“Don't leave questions unanswered..."_

This was a question he couldn’t ask, didn’t have time to ask, didn’t _want_ to ask. Knowing the answer - be it bad or good - would give him hope… somehow he still didn’t feel like he deserved such hope. Somehow he didn’t want to give himself the satisfaction of knowing. Somehow… as naive and stupid as it sounded… he wanted to believe that not knowing the answer would bring her back to him. How could she fail if so many things were left unanswered?

_"She is your leader, not just your lover."_  

She didn’t belong to him anyway. He’d known that going in. He’d understood going into their relationship that what was between them was _theirs_ but _she_ belonged to the Inquisition. If anyone could really _belong_ to anything.  
  
Needless to say, he was thankful for the distraction of the Arbor Wilds, and the battles that came with them.

 

* * *

 

Taking in reports and filtering them through to Cullen and the others had meant she saw the brunt of the injured and killed. Two long days and two sleepless nights began to take their toll on her through heavy eyes and dragging feet, and she began to slow. How could she defeat Corypheus if she could barely lift her feet? But it felt wrong for her to let her soldiers do all the work, to sit back and rest, but Josephine, ever concerned, forced her to curl up in the embrace of her bedroll - having had enough of the Inquisitor’s yawns. Arielle finally sank into the darkness of sleep - brought on by a draught of Morrigan’s making - but it was not without second thought. What if something happened while she was asleep?

Dreamless sleep was something she hadn’t been beholden to for _months_ , but whatever magic was in Morrigan’s grasp slid her into a death-like slumber for much of the day - a relief to her companions she was sure - until a voice drew her from the shadows.

“Our soldiers managed to cut a path through to the other side, Inquisitor,” the scout leaned in through the flaps of her tent.   
  
She lifted her head, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, “Commander Cullen?”  
  
“He’s pushed up with the troops. Red Templars had been flanking our forward ranks.”  
  
“Oh…” She curled her fingers into the blanket over her shoulder, vaguely remembering his voice and the slide of warm fabric against the backdrop of her dormancy. He had come to see her, had pressed a kiss to her temple, and had left. “Yes I remember that…”  
  
“Lady Morrigan and your companions await you.”  
  
She nodded and rubbed the exhaustion from her shoulders, pushing the blanket away and sitting up. She wished she could have spoken to him, but she felt better than she had in recent memory - as if she would be able to face the disaster that was soon to come.  
  
“Arielle!” Dorian’s voice greeted her and tired eyes fell on familiar figure awaiting her outside her tent. The flood of relief nearly knocked her off her feet.  
  
“Inquisitor,” Cassandra lifted a hand, looking up from her quiet conversation with Dorian. She seemed unharmed, proud shoulders held back and chin tilted high, and she laughed when Arielle threw herself into her Seeker’s arms.

“You’re alive!” She caught Cassandra’s face in her hands. “You’re alive! Are you hurt? Where are Gavin and Lisette?”  
  
“A few hours out. With the entire Trevelyan force in tow.”  
  
“Are you kidding?” Her words fell from her lips in a rush.  
  
“I never kid,” Cassandra answered. “When will people understand that?”

“Are you ready, Inquisitor?” Morrigan interrupted, “We are running short on time.”

“Yes I…” she looked back to the Seeker.  
  
“I am ready to go when you are, Herald,” Cassandra told her firmly. “I will go with you.”  
  
“Are you sure? You’ve done enough bringing the others back.” Arielle filled her hip bag with the stock that Dorian handed her, brows wrinkled. “I’m sure you want to rest.”  
  
“I would rather be with you,” Cassandra refuted her, shoulders stiffening.  
  
“Andraste guide you, Herald!” A soldier called as they passed and Arielle bowed her head in acknowledgement. She knew their spirits were falling, that the Red Templars had been fighting like mad against them, but she was glad to see that her presence could help lift them.

“I wonder. Is it Andraste your soldiers invoke during battle, or does a more immediate name come to their lips?” Morrigan said from her elbow, face devious.

“Another way to let people down if I falter. Thanks for the reminder,” Arielle said cheerfully.  
  
“Do try to watch your step, Inquisitor, we’ll all go down if you go down,” Dorian added and she shot him a dirty look over her shoulder.

They passed through the trees, meeting the Orlesian general along the way, and Arielle finally had a chance to marvel at the beauty of the woods they moved through. Temperate in nature with lush greens and stony paths - it was almost shameful to have brought war to its shade. Magic ran deep here, running beneath her feet like a river, and flowing into her lungs, pushing a new strength into her bones.   
  
“You can feel it?” Morrigan asked. “The Old Magic?”  
  
“Yes…” The Anchor in her palm glinted the light, “Is it because of this?”

Since she had entered the forest the Anchor’s power had grown, she had felt it bleeding into her forearm, feeding the strength of her magic, and the strength had been disquieting. _This_ was where it belonged.  
  
“Perhaps you are merely susceptible to deeper magics?” Dorian suggested.  
  
Arielle had expected Morrigan to laugh off such a ridiculous suggestion, but the Witch of the Wilds remained quiet. There was a majesty here, a reverence that stole their words and left them breathless. They passed towards the second barricade and found a Templar camp, and Arielle relished the stretch of her limbs and the flow of mana through her fingertips - a chance to do more than just hold her breath.  
  
“Look out! Archers on the ridge!” Cassandra called and Arielle turned, reaching and passing through the air as a gust of frigid air.

“Ha!” She slid to a stop, turning to see a curved blade offered to her throat. “What?” A masked Elf was crouched and armed, but before it could move Dorian had blasted the creature off its feet.  
  
“There are more!” Cole met another assailant blade for blade, sinking into the shadows to strike at his opponent from behind - merciless in defending his friends.

The secondary battle was hard won, the Elves moving with a grace Arielle hadn’t seen before, and by the end of it she was leaning on her staff for support. She splayed her fingers out and pushed a mask away with her magic, too cautious to touch the Elf at her feet.  
  
Her face was long and angular, the Vallaslin of Mythal coiling over her features - silver and glinting. Arielle wondered what they were doing here, why they fought against the Inquisition? A sadness took her the longer she looked at the timeless features and a desire to bury them swelled up in her chest - they deserved more respect than to lay in their own blood… that much she knew.

“Were we just attacked by Elves?” She asked finally, pushing her long hair back.  
  
“They did not look like Dalish or City Elves.” Cassandra wiped her sword and slid it back into its sheath, eyes on her Inquisitor beneath knitted brows.  
  
“Perhaps these creatures are the reason few return from the Arbor Wilds.” Morrigan suggested, dismissing a healing spell she’d used on Cole. “I am not much of a healer.”  
  
“It’s enough for me,” Cole replied graciously.

“We must press on to the last barricade,” Cassandra looked Arielle over. “Are you alright?”   
  
“Yes I’m fine,” the Inquisitor confirmed, curling her finger into the fine chain around her neck. “Let’s keep moving.” But the Elves had unsettled her and she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at where their bodies lay, catching Morrigan’s mournful glance the same direction.

Something wasn’t right.

As they moved she hoped Cullen would be at the final barricade, hoped to see him once more before she met Corypheus face to face again. A strange fear that everything was about to chance _again_ had begun to creep up her spine. She wanted to see him again.

Just in case.

 

* * *

 

If he saw her again he’d promised himself he’d say something. 

He’d gone to see her before he’d left but had found her sleeping, a precious gift for her, and thus let his words go unspoken. This time, fighting off a Behemoth as his soldiers died around him, he decided he wouldn’t waste his time. Cassandra’s words had cut him deeply, had put fear into his heart, and the thought of losing her without knowing her answer...

He turned at the sound of an energy barrage to find the Inquisitor and her team breaking the battlefield - Arielle and Dorian casting to cover Cole and Cassandra’s charge, their magic searing the air.  


“The cavalry has arrived!” Dorian cheered, his staff hitting the ground hard enough to shake the foundations of the trees. “Sorry we’re late!”  
  
“Good to see you!” His heart lifted, spirits soaring with the magic in the air.

“Cullen!” Her voice reached him and he cut down a Templar in his path, making for them to the best of his ability. She seemed lighter now than she had before her sleep, hair half pinned back and face cleared of worry. “Which way!”  
  
“You’re following the river into the Temple!” He called to her, pausing to help a soldier stand before hurrying to her side. “Thank the Maker you’re here.”  
  
“Did you think we wouldn’t come?” She surveyed the area, her companions righting soldiers and healing as best they could. “How bad is it?”  
  
“It’s-” Another blast nearly staggered them and a fresh set of Templars came over the ridge.  
  
“Queen Ileana and Lisette will be here soon! Just hold on,” Cassandra told him. He was thankful to see Cassandra by Arielle’s side, a single thread of relief pulling free of the knot in his heart.  
  
“Our forces can withstand a bit more,” Cullen confirmed, watching soldiers swarm the reinforcements. “But I’m glad to hear they’re alright. Arielle I have…”  
  
“Let’s go!” Dorian barked.

“Of course,” she nodded and looked back. “I’m sorry, Cullen I need to go.” She lingered regardless, hand on his arm.

He felt everything in that moment, saw every crystallized detail. He saw the flick of her eyelashes, the curious wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, the way her pupils contracted and focused on him, felt the air burn around them as a Red Templar neared, the way her fingers tightened on his tricep, and felt the soft rush of her breath from her lips.  
  
He could change everything.

“We have no time for this,” he was left breathless when Cassandra started to lead the Inquisitor away.   
  
_“Don't leave questions unanswered..."_

“Arielle!” He caught her elbow, heart rattling against its cage - a flightless bird against bars of steel.  
  
“We’re going, Cullen! We need to make it into the Temple!” Her fingers hovered at her throat as she glanced over her shoulder towards where Cole and Dorian and slowed to wait for them.  
  
“I need to know!” The words left his lips, a rush of emotion against the tumultuous backdrop of war. “Will you marry me?”  
  
“I…” her lilac eyes widened, the center of beauty and life in an ugly battleground filled with death.  
  
“Would you marry me?!” He pressured. He was in too deep now, in too far to heed the subtle panic rising beneath his skin - the beginnings of a scream dying against the back of his throat.  
  
“Cullen, I…” An explosion drew her attention and she wrenched her arm free, her face shattering around whatever unreadable emotion he’d caused in her.  
  
Dorian’s voice reached them. “We need to go! _Now_!”

“Arielle…” She didn’t say a word, catching Cullen’s hand and pressing something into his palm with a lingering, meaningful look - what meaning it was _exactly_ escaped him with the buzzing in his ears and the terror in his blood, but he clenched his fist around her fingers - only to have them slip away.  
  
“Inquisitor!” He nearly stumbled after her when she left, feeling as though all the support he’d used to build himself up had crumbled beneath his feet.

 _I made a mistake._  
  
Watching her retreating back, waiting for her to look over her shoulder, waiting for her to return to him, was fruitless. She vanished around the bend of the river without a second glance, leaving him standing with a sword in one hand and her promise in the other.

_I’ve made a terrible mistake._


	26. To leave for nothing all thy sum of good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He will wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is forever late and kind of short. I lost my play through cause of some PSN bull =/ but I'm back now!
> 
> I'm morgcules on Twitter and jocunditea on tumblr.

The world seemed to pass by her in a blur, the colors and light blending like some twisted oil painting. The slosh of water around her ankles and the crunch of grass beneath her boots - sounds she might have once enjoyed, tainted by the fear and regret that seeped into her veins like a poison.

She hadn't looked back, hadn't taken her eyes off the goal... If she had seen his face, had felt his shame, she might not have been able to leave. She might not have been able to part from him.

" _Will you marry me? **Would** you marry me?_ " Oh, how his words had stung. He deserved an answer, a truth, a _future_... But she couldn't answer him there, she couldn't say yes or no. Not with pressure rising under her skin and threatening to escape as bursts of flame and frigid ice, not with the hot bite of bile at the back of her throat, not with her immediate future in danger.

He deserved more than a battlefield proposal. More than a hurried answer and a mournful wait.

"Did I hear you say that you'd found Queen Ileana?" Morrigan was asking when the sounds of the world returned to her. Cole was watching Arielle closely, keeping pace with curiosity in the angles of his face, and she wondered how many of her thoughts he had read.

"Yes, she's on her way here with the Trevelyan forces. Why?" She heard a frown on Cassandra's voice - a mistrusting, hardened edge pressed against an armored throat.

"I merely wondered. Tis a miracle indeed that you managed to rouse her." Morrigan mused. "Was... her King with her?"

"King Alistair? No. We last saw him at Redcliffe. I should think he is quite comfortable on his throne in Ferelden."

"If you think for a moment that Alistair is _comfortable _on that throne... Well, I suppose tis best that way."__

"You speak as if you knew him," Arielle asked, pushing aside her own thoughts.

"Perhaps I did. Perhaps I didn't. It matters little now." Her noncommittal shrug piqued the Inquisitor's interest, and apparently Dorian's as well.

"Well, _that_ was both painfully obvious and blatantly ambiguous." He cast a glance at Arielle and she looked away, unable to hold his gaze for long.

 _They know what he asked_. She could feel it, could sense that they had their own opinions on the matter, but they kept their words silent.

"He will wait." Well, all but Cole.

"I'm sure. Thank you, Cole," she said uneasily.

He watched her a moment longer, then turned his attention ahead. She knew he wanted to say more, but she thanked the Maker that he restrained himself.

They passed between two great Halla, the Inquisition archers standing along the bridge line hailing them, and she felt a strange sort of reverence spill over her. This had once been a place of prayer, a place of worship, not unlike the Chantries that now littered the face of Thedas - it deserved honor. She looked up, wondering how many thousands of others had walked this same path in the time before her kind had come to these parts of the world.

The sounds of battle, echoing through the tunnel ahead as they neared, were confused and muddied, bouncing against the archways and dark tunnels ahead of them. The echoes seemed as though they could have been the sounds of a battle long past, faint and nebulous, but she knew it was more likely they belonged to the war raging around them.

The inhuman screeches of the corrupted sent pangs of terror and anger through her - these monsters had once been people: mages and templars and warriors alike - now mutated and warped by shadow. If she failed to step through the arches and into the unknown beyond, many others would fall to the same fate.

She shielded her eyes as they passed onto a ledge, emerging into the blinding light to find carrion birds overhead and the dead littering the ground like flowers on a hill - blooming reluctant crimson petals upon ancient stone and freckled ivy.

An Elf, backed by archers, stood against Corypheus - Elves with long faces and ancient clothing and accents she didn’t recognize.

"Well of Sorrows?" She murmured, listening closely as her nemesis spoke. “What’s the Well of Sorrows?”

Light flashed, bright and glorious, forcing her to shield her eyes, squinting against the force of it. Her enemy disintegrated before them - the mark on her hand aching with the influx of magical energy - and left her heart pounding in her chest.

“After them!” Her own voice spoke before she could stop it, rising to chase the Elves and Templars alike that made off down the intricate bridge.  

She cleared the railing in a single leap and started for the mouth of the bridge, limbs uncertain beneath her. There was little time to marvel at the ancient construction or the sound of the breeze in the trees, not with potential answers fleeing behind massive temple doors.

“It cannot be!” Morrigan gasped and the Inquisitor turned. If the sounds didn’t make her ill, the contortion of a half-dead Warden’s body might have. The screech of a dragon took her breath away and she shoved Cole towards the doors of the temple.

“Across the bridge! NOW!” Blood splattered across her face, hot and thick, spraying from the Warden’s carcass, and she threw herself down the bridge after them. She saw Dorian look back, not missing the terror on his face, and she grasped his shoulder to shove him through the door, rounding the angle to help him push the door closed.

She had seen how close the dragon was behind them and, remembering the heat of its breath at Haven, shoved all her weight into the door to close it, fortifying her strength with what mana she could spare. Fragments of half-remembered prayer escaped from between her lips, once so fervently sworn and repeated. Her muscles strained against the door as dragonfire burst through the door just before it closed.

Her fingertips had been burned by more than fire.

* * *

 

Blood spurted, warm and viscous, and dripped off the polished metal of his plate as he covered the retreat of his soldiers back towards the mouth of the temple. They would hold Corypheus’s forces back if it took every man and woman - and it was looking like that might be what it came down to.  

“How you holdin’ up?” A burst of grateful heat steadied his limbs as Bull and his Chargers crashed through the trees (leaving a trail of blood and looted carcasses behind, he was sure) and he offered a thumbs up, pulling his sword free of a Templar’s body.  

“Never been better.” He pushed his helmet back when Krem offered a canteen. “Krem, you’re a treasure.”  

“Thank you, Commander,” the warrior grinned. “You looked like you could use some back up-” He looked over his shoulder as spells whizzed through the clearing, Vivienne marching forward with Blackwall and Sera at her heels.   

“I’m grateful." He nodded.   

“Hup!” He watched Krem heave his weapon, swinging with power to crush the skull of an approaching Warden. Bull was smart to have someone like Krem around - brute strength was in short supply at times. “Sorry ‘bout that.”  

“It’s fine. Giving me a chance to catch my breath.”  

“Gettin’ old, Commander?” Krem punched his shoulder. “Keep up.”  

“I will… most certainly try…” he nodded and looked over his shoulder towards the temple’s entrance.  

“They’ll be alright,” Krem said reassuringly.  

“Yes, I’m sure she will be." The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. She would be safe. He knew that. He knew she would survive.

However, that knowledge only made his hurried proposal all the more bitter on his tongue.

* * *

 

“You said you knew what he was looking for!” Arielle rounded on Morrigan as soon as the doors had sealed.

“I _suspected._ I did not _know _.” She watched the Witch draw inward, defiance in her feline eyes.__

Arielle folded her arms, tilting her shoulders in towards the Witch of the Wilds. There was no anger in her blood, but annoyed amusement wasn’t beyond the scope of her emotions.

“Yes. I was _wrong_ \- does that please you?” Morrigan threw her hands up, dropping them to her hips.

"A little.” Arielle passed by her and walked into the courtyard. Here, just as in the tunnel, she could hear the sounds of war and death beyond the hallowed walls.

The conversation died and she looked around, filling her lungs with the mana that seemed imbued in the walls of the temple. Sunlight filtered through the air in the ruins, bright and beautiful. If she could have, she might have lingered and learned what she could from the ancient stones, but she had little time to linger - as it was she hurried beneath a broken archway into the foyer.

She had a feeling Morrigan wasn't telling the truth, watching her translate Elvish runes on the face of the altar before them, but if the Witch of the Wilds was going to lie there must have been a good reason.

" _Morrigan may seem misguided or even false - but do not fear_ ," Ileana’s face swam in her memories, her voice milky and washed out. They had spoken only briefly at the Circle, and Morrigan had been Ileana’s main concern. " _She wants what is best for this world as much as you and I do. If she hides truths... It is only because of her misunderstanding of people - and her desire to do what she believes is right. She will not ask your permission. She will not even ask forgiveness. But she will not lead you astray._ "

She could hear Cassandra complaining as she paced the altar’s ring, thoughts blank and placid as a still lake. There was a peace here, and it filled her body and lightened her limbs. She could see how worshippers of Mythal had made this a place to worship in... Here she felt closer to the air, closer to the sky, closer to the earth than she had ever felt before.

In a breath, one glorious breath, it was over. The magic stones beneath her feet flashed brightly before fading to a soft glow, and she sprinted to the doors that had previously been sealed.

At the edges of her perception she could hear Cole's lamentation, “They hurt themselves for years to get stronger... yet they still die so easily…”

She couldn't help but let those words sink deep. Cullen could have been one of the dead. One of the bloodied and corrupted monsters that lay discarded like forgotten wine bottles after a celebration - an apt comparison if Arielle was honest with herself.

An explosion nearly blew them back and Arielle watched helplessly as Templars jumped into the crevasse, only vaguely understanding what was exchanged. There was a strange anger in her, an offense taken at the blatant destruction - these weren't her gods but they were no less precious to those who worshipped them.

Morrigan’s words faded into the background and she looked to where Samson had vanished. Cullen, again, entered her mind. 

* * *

 

"REINFORCEMENTS!" A scout made the call, relief on her voice.

"Commander!" He jerked himself around at Krem's voice, exhaustion pulling at his limbs and weighing his movements. "It's-"

If he had been relieved to see the Chargers - this was pure, unadulterated joy:

Fresh soldiers, bearing the charging steed of the Trevelyan sigil, burst into the clearing with the roar of a thousand men. Templars, armor branded with Ostwick tabards, warriors, shields emblazoned and reinforced, archers with the short human bows of the Free Marches - _mages_ with magic bursting from their staves.

He might have cried, if all his tears hadn't been sweat out in battle worn agony. Gavin and Lisette were in the thick of their forces, he could see the flash of Lisette's daggers and feel the power of Gavin's rousing cries, and their presence filled him with strength.

They had ridden here with all their forces, had come across an ocean to support their sibling. Despite their differences, despite the misunderstandings that he knew were still present. The glory of their love and faith filled him, cooled his heated body.

"Inquisition!" He cried, lifting his sword. "Push back! With all your strength!"

If he tried to ignore the way his own blood slicked the hilt of his sword, if his breathing became a little too labored, if his swings slowed and his vision filtered shadows at the edges... he didn't show it.

If he held a little tighter to the amulet in his palm, if he pressed power into it with the last, splintered remnants of his strength... he didn't show that either.

If he felt her final strike as if it was his own... he didn't know it.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to come follow me on [tumblr](http://jocunditea.co.vu/) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/thorintea) whatever floats your boat!


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